FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,   D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED   BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


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Sretioa 


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COLUMBUS,        -       O 


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ULTIMA    VERITAS 


ULTIMA    VERITl£&p21^/ 


AND  OTHER  VERSE! 


BY 


WASHINGTON    GLADDEN 


THE    PILGRIM    PRESS 

BOSTON    NEW  YORK.    CHICAGO 


COPYRIGHT,    1912 
BY    WASHINGTON    GLADDEN 


THE  'PLIMPTON-PRESS 
[  W  •  D  •  O  ] 

NORWOOD-MASS-U'S-A 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

IT  would  be  disingenuous  to  hold  my  friends 
responsible  for  the  appearance  of  these  verses; 
the  fault  is  mine.  Several  of  them  are  waifs, 
floating  about  the  newspaper  world  and  appear- 
ing to  me  now  and  then  in  unkempt  and  be- 
draggled form ;  I  have  wished  that  those  who 
care  for  them  might  have  correct  copies  of  them. 

How  old-fashioned  these  verses  are;  how 
completely  they  fail  to  answer  the  high  demands 
of  modern  poetic  art,  no  one  knows  better  than 
I;  it  is  only  to  a  few  old-fashioned  folk  that 
they  are  likely  to  make  appeal. 

The  verses  of  the  period  of  the  Civil  War 
will  recall  to  some  readers  experiences  from 
which  we  have  traveled  far.  Each  of  these 
reflects  the  emotion  of  the  day  that  gave  it 
birth.  I  am  glad  that  I  find  in  my  heart 
today  none  of  the  resentments  that  resound  in 
these  martial  lines,  but  I  am  not  ashamed  of 
the  passion  and  the  purpose  that  called  them 
forth. 


VI  PREFATORY    NOTE 

The  youthful  fervors  and  the  rhetorical 
enthusiasms  of  the  college  verses  will  be  incred- 
ible to  most  men  under  fifty;  college  boys  in 
these  days  are  not  encouraged  to  let  themselves 
go  after  this  fashion.  I  have  saved  these 
because  to  a  very  few  persons  some  of  them 
have  some  reminiscent  value.  A  lessening 
group  of  old  men  will  remember  the  early 
dawn  of  that  June  morning  when  fifty  of  us 
stood  in  a  circle  with  joined  hands  in  front  of 
the  old  chapel  and  sang  our  parting  song.  For 
us  the  words  of  the  last  two  stanzas  were  simply 
metaphorical.  There  was  no  literal  i( clash  of 
sabers"  nor  "roll  of  signal  drums,"  and  no 
"flashing  sword"  to  grasp  as  we  "loosed  the 
parting  hand";  but  within  two  years  from  that 
time,  to  several  of  the  men  who  sang  them,  these 
pregnant  words  were  something  more  than 
rhetoric. 

There  is  an  incident  connected  with  the 
initial  poem  of  this  volume  which  I  will  ven- 
ture to  tell.  A  good  many  years  ago,  when 
I  was  serving  on  the  Preachers9  Staff  of  Har- 
vard University,  a  young  man  came  into  my 
room  at  Wadsworth  House  one  morning  and 
told  me  this  story: 

"A  year  ago  I  was  a  senior  here  and  was 


PREFATORY    NOTE  VII 

secretary  of  the  College  Young  Men's  Chris- 
tian Association.  When  I  graduated,  the 
International  Committee  of  that  organization 
sent  me  to  Ceylon  to  take  charge  of  work 
in  that  field.  It  was  a  long  journey,  and  I 
had  much  time  to  think.  I  began  to  examine 
the  foundations  of  my  faith  and  soon  found,  to 
my  dismay,  that  they  were  very  insecure;  I 
was  not  sure  of  anything.  But  I  thought  that 
when  I  reached  my  destination  and  went  to 
work  my  troubles  would  disappear,  and  so  it 
was.  But  before  long  the  committee  picked  me 
up  again  and  sent  me  to  Bombay.  I  had 
another  long  voyage  and  another  battle  with 
my  doubts,  and  this  time  the  overthrow  was 
complete.  I  knew  that  I  had  no  faith,  and 
that  I  had  no  right  to  preach  to  others  a  doc- 
trine which  I  did  not  believe.  I  went  ashore 
and  told  the  authorities  the  truth  about  it,  and 
took  the  first  ship  for  New  York. 

"  That  first  night  out  was  a  gloomy  night. 
The  faith  of  my  childhood  was  gone.  I  was 
sure  of  nothing.  I  sat  upon  the  deck  awhile; 
then  I  thought  of  a  little  book  of  daily  devotional 
readings  in  my  stateroom  and  had  a  sudden 
curiosity  to  know  what  the  message  for  that 
day  might  be.     I  went  down  and  opened  the 


VIII  PREFATORY    NOTE 

book,  and  this  was  part  of  the  word  for  me,  — 
these  two  verses  with  your  name  signed  to 
them;   I  know  them  by  heart: 

"  In  the  bitter  waves  of  woe 

Beaten  and  tossed  about 
By  the  sullen  winds  that  blow 

From  the  desolate  shores  of  doubt, — 

"  While  the  anchors  that  faith  had  cast 

Are  dragging  in  the  gale 
I  am  quietly  holding  fast 

To  the  things  that  cannot  fail." 

"  That  was  all.  I  did  not  know  you,  but 
these  words  brought  light  and  hope  to  me.  I 
said,  'Here's  a  man  who  has  found  something 
to  hold  on  to.  There  must  be  something.  I 
shall  find  it.9  And,  do  you  know,  I  have  been 
clinging  to  that  hope  ever  since. 

"When  I  landed  in  New  York  there  were 
reasons  why  I  could  not  go  to  my  own  home. 
I  was  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do,  but  finally 
concluded  to  come  up  to  Cambridge.  I  ar- 
rived last  night,  and  one  of  the  first  things  I 
learned  was  that  you  were  here.  And  I  have 
come  to  you  to  have  you  tell  me  what  the  things 
are  that  cannot  fail" 


PREFATORY    NOTE  IX 

77  was  easy  to  satisfy  myself  that  there  was 
more  faith  in  this  young  man's  honest  doubt 
than  in  half  the  creeds,  and  after  an  hour  or 
two  of  talk  I  sent  him  away  with  the  assurance 
that  he.  would  soon  find  his  way  out  of  the 
woods.  Xot  long  afterward  I  had  a  letter 
from  him  telling  me  that  my  word  had  come 
true;  that  he  was  out  of  the  jungle,  with  a 
clear  path  before  his  feet. 

W.  G. 

Columbus,  September  10,  1912 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

ULTIMA  VERITAS 3 

The  Pastor's  Reverie 5 

Spring  Song 9 

Awakening 10 

A  Mother's  Lamentation 13 

At  the  Foundling  Hospital     ....  15 

The  Baby  over  the  Way 19 

The  Murderer  of  the  Period       ...  21 

Caws  and  Effect 24 

Question  and  Answer 26 

Mark  Hopkins 27 

Alma  Mater 32 

Hail  and  Farewell 41 

Uncle  Sam's  Christmas,  1898    ....  44 

Urbs  Beata 55 

THE   ORATORY 65 

The  Disciple 67 

The  Believer 69 

The  Mourner 70 

The  Doubter 71 

A  Little  While 73 

The  Way 75 

My  Sabbath 76 

Hymn  for  the  Dedication  of  Mark  Hop- 
kins Memorial  Hall       ....  78 
xi 


XII  CONTENTS 

Hymn  for  the  Williams  Centennial.     .  80 
Hymn  for  the  Dedication  of  the  John 
Robinson   Church,   Gainsborough, 

England 82 

Hymn  for  the  Columbus  School  for  Girls  84 

Immanuel 86 

MOMENTA   MARTIS 95 

November,  1860 97 

April,  1861 99 

May,  1863 102 

April  the  Ninth,  1865 104 

April  the  Fourteenth,  1865     ....  106 

A  Mother's  Story 108 

COLLEGE   DAYS 113 

The  Mountains 115 

Morning 117 

Battle  Song 122 

Clairvoyance 124 

The  Cloudlet 125 

A  Song  of  Summer 126 

Veiled 128 

The  Zephyr  and  I 129 

Beyond 132 

Parting  Song         139 


ULTIMA  VERITAS 


ULTIMA  VERITAS 


I 


N  the  bitter  waves  of  woe, 

Beaten  and  tossed  about 

By  the  sullen  winds  that  blow 

From  the  desolate  shores  of  doubt. 

While  the  anchors  that  faith  had  cast 

Are  dragging  in  the  gale, 
I  am  quietly  holding  fast 

To  the  things  that  cannot  fail: 

I  know  that  right  is  right; 

That  it  is  not  good  to  lie; 
That  love  is  better  than  spite, 

And  a  neighbor  than  a  spy; 

I  know  that  passion  needs 
The  leash  of  a  sober  mind; 

I  know  that  generous  deeds 
Some  sure  reward  will  find; 

That  the  rulers  must  obey; 
That  the  givers  shall  increase; 
3 


ULTIMA    VERITAS 

That  Duty  lights  the  way 

For  the  beautiful  feet  of  Peace;  — 

In  the  darkest  night  of  the  year, 
When  the  stars  have  all  gone  out, 

That  courage  is  better  than  fear, 
That  faith  is  truer  than  doubt; 

And  fierce  though  the  fiends  may  fight, 
And  long  though  the  angels  hide, 

I  know  that  Truth  and  Right 
Have  the  universe  on  their  side; 

And  that  somewhere,  beyond  the  stars, 
Is  a  Love  that  is  better  than  fate; 

When  the  night  unlocks  her  bars 
I  shall  see  Him,  and  I  will  wait. 


THE   PASTOR'S   REVERIE 


A  HE  pastor  sits  in  his  easy  chair, 

With  the  Bible  upon  his  knee, 
From  gold  to  purple  the  clouds  in  the  west 

Are  changing  momently. 
The  shadows  lie  in  the  valleys  below, 

And  hide  in  the  curtain's  fold, 
And  the  page  grows  dim,  whereon  he  reads, 

"I  remember  the  days  of  old." 

Fleet  flies  his  thought  over  many  a  field 

Of  stubble  and  snow  and  bloom; 
And  now  it  trips  through  a  festival, 

And  now  it  halts  at  a  tomb; 
Young  faces  smile  in  his  reverie 

Of  those  that  are  young  no  more, 
And  voices  are  heard  that  only  come 

With  the  winds,  from  a  far-off  shore. 

"Not  clear  nor  dark,"  as  the  Scripture  saith, 

The  pastor's  memories  are; 
Xo  day  that  is  gone  was  shadowless, 

Xo  night  was  without  its  star; 
5 


b  THE    PASTOR     S     REVERIE 

But  mingled  bitter  and  sweet  hath  been 

The  portion  of  his  cup; 
"The  hand  that  in  love  hath  smitten,"  he 
saith, 

"In  love  hath  bound  us  up." 

He  thinks  of  the  day  when  first  with  fear 

And  faltering  lips  he  stood 
To  speak  in  the  sacred  place  the  Word 

To  the  waiting  multitude; 
He  walks  again  to  the  house  of  God 

With  the  voice  of  joy  and  praise, 
With    many    whose    feet    long    time    have 
pressed 

Heaven's  safe  and  blessed  ways. 

He  enters  again  the  homes  of  toil, 

And  joins  in  the  homely  chat, 
He  stands  in  the  shop  of  the  artisan, 

He  sits,  where  the  Master  sat, 
At  the  poor  man's  fire,  and  the  rich  man's 
feast; 

But  who  today  are  the  poor, 
And  who  are  the  rich?     Ask  Him  who  keeps 

The  treasures  that  ever  endure. 

Once  more  the  green  and  the  grove  resound 
With  the  merry  children's  din, 


THE     PASTOR      S     REVERIE  7 

He  hears  their  shout  at  the  Christmas  tide 

When  Santa  Clans  stalks  in; 
Once  more  he  lists  while  the  camp-fire  roars 

On  the  distant  mountain  side, 
Or,  proving  apostleship,  plies  the  brook 

Where  the  fierce  young  troutlings  hide. 

And  now  he  beholds  the  wedding  train 

To  the  altar  slowly  move, 
And  the  solemn  words  are  said  that  seal 

The  sacrament  of  love. 
Again  at  the  font  he  meets  once  more 

The  tremulous  youthful  pair, 
With  a  white-robed  cherub,  crowing  response 

To  the  consecrating  prayer. 

By  the  couch  of  pain  he  kneels  again, 

Again  the  thin  hand  lies 
Cold  in  his  palm,  while  the  last  far  look 

Steals  into  the  steadfast  eyes; 
And  now  the  burden  of  hearts  that  break 

Lies  heavy  upon  his  own, 
The  widow's  woe,  and  the  orphan's  cry, 

And  the  desolate  mother's  moan. 

So  blithe  and  glad,  so  heavy  and  sad 
Are  the  days  that  are  no  more; 


5  THE     PASTOR     S     REVERIE 

So   mournfully  sweet   are   the  sounds   that 
float 
With  the  winds  from  a  far-off  shore. 
For  the  pastor  has  learned  what  meaneth 
the  word 
That  is  given  him  to  keep, 
"Rejoice  with  them  that  do  rejoice 
And  weep  with  them  that  weep." 

It  is  not  in  vain  that  he  has  trod 

This  lowly  and  toilsome  way; 
It  is  not  in  vain  that  he  has  wrought 

In  the  vineyard,  all  the  day; 
For  the  soul  that  gives  is  the  soul  that  lives, 

And  bearing  another's  load 
Doth  lighten  your  own,  and  shorten  the  way, 

And  brighten  the  homeward  road. 


SPRING   SONG 


O 


HOPE  of  the  world  that  risest  again 

New-born  from  the  clod, 
0  life  that  brightens  on  meadow  and  fen 

With  the  breath  of  God, 
0  daffodils  brave  whose  banners  fly 

At  the  snow's  retreat, 
0  sweet  warm  winds  of  the  South  that  sigh 

O'er  the  springing  wheat, 
0  birds  that  tell  in  the  branches  bare 

Of  the  leaf-clad  sprays,  — 
Read  me  your  lesson;  teach  me  your  prayer, 

Fill  my  soul  with  your  praise. 


AWAKENING 

.LJOWN  to  the  borders  of  the  silent  land 

He  goes  with  halting  feet; 
He  dares  not  trust,  he  cannot  understand 

The  blessedness  complete 
That  waits  for  God's  beloved  at  his  right 
hand. 

He  dreads  to  see  God's  face;  for  though  the 
pure 
Beholding  Him  are  blest, 
Yet  in  His  sight  no  evil  can  endure; 

And  still  with  fear  oppressed 
He  looks  within  and  cries,   "Who  can  be 
sure?" 

The  world  beyond  is  strange;    the  golden 
streets, 

The  palaces  so  fair, 
The  seraphs  singing  in  the  shining  seats, 

The  glory  everywhere, 
And  to  his  soul  he  solemnly  repeats 

The  visions  of  the  Book.     "Alas!"  he  cries, 
"That  world  is  all  too  grand; 
10 


A  \Y  A  K  E  N  I  N  G  11 

Among  those  splendors  and  those  majesties 

I  would  not  dare  to  stand; 
For  me  a  lowlier  heaven  would  well  suffice!" 

Yet,  faithful  in  his  lot  this  saint  has  stood 
Through  service  and  through  pain; 

The  Lord  Christ  he  has  followed,  doing  good; 
Sure,  dying  must  be  gain 

To  one  who  living  hath  done  what  he  could. 

The  light  is  fading  in  the  tired  eyes, 

The  weary  race  is  run; 
Xot  as  the  victor  that  doth  seize  the  price, 

But  as  the  fainting  one 
He  nears  the  verge  of  the  eternities. 

And  now  the  end  has  come,  and  now  he  sees 

The  happy,  happy  shore; 
0  fearful,  faint,  distrustful  soul,  are  these 

The  things  thou  fearedst  before, 
The  awful  majesties  that  spoiled  thy  peace? 

This  land  is  home;  no  stranger  art  thou  here; 

Sweet  and  familiar  words 
From  voices  silent  long  salute  thine  ear; 

And  winds  and  songs  of  birds 
And  bees  and  blooms  and  sweet  perfumes 
are  near. 


12  AWAKENING 

The  seraphs  —  they  are  men  of  kindly  mien; 

The  gems  and  robes  —  but  signs 
Of  minds  all  radiant  and  of  hearts  washed 
clean; 

The  glory  —  such  as  shines 
Wherever  faith  or  hope  or  love  is  seen. 

And   He,    0    doubting   child!    the   Lord   of 
Grace 

Whom  thou  didst  fear  to  see  — 
He  knows  thy  sin  —  but  look  upon  His  face! 

Doth  it  not  shine  on  thee 
With  a  great  light  of  love  that  fills  the  place? 

0  happy  soul,  be  thankful  now  and  rest! 

Heaven  is  a  goodly  land, 
And  God  is  love,   and  those  he  loves  are 
blest; 

Now  thou  dost  understand; 
The  least  thou  hast  is  better  than  the  best 

That  thou  didst  hope  for;    now  upon  thine 
eyes 

The  new  life  opens  fair; 
Before  thy  feet  the  blessed  journey  lies 

Through  homelands  everywhere; 
And  heaven  to  thee  is  all  a  sweet  surprise. 


A   MOTHER'S   LAMENTATION 

vJONE   is   the   snow    and   the   dull   earth 
awaketh, 
Red  is  the  maple  and  green  is  the  willow, 
Blackbirds  are  chattering  free; 
Bright   on   the   sunny  bank  new  greenness 
breaketh, 
Summer-tide  surges  in,  billow  on  billow, 
What  is  it  bringing  to  me? 

Life  of  my  life,  in  the  cold  ground  they  laid 
her, 
Bare  were  the  meadows  and  brown  were 
the    beeches, 
Twittered  the  lone  chickadee; 
There  many  a  weary  day  winter  hath  staid 
her, 
Summer,     sweet     summer!     my     sorrow 
beseeches, 
Bring  back  my  darling  to  me! 

Nay,  mock  me  not  with  your  buds  and  your 
greenery! 

13 


14    a  mother's   lamentation 

Spread   me   no   flowery   carpets   to   walk 
upon! 
Make  me  no  music,  I  pray! 
Desolate  soul  doth  make  desolate  scenery; 
Only  one  theme  deigneth  sorrow  to  talk 
upon; 
Take  your  brave  splendors  away! 

"Will   not    be    comforted!"     Nay   Master, 
hear  me! 
Mothers  in  Bethlehem  wept  by  the  manger 
Whence,  in  the  night,  thou  hadst  fled; 
Come  back  to  me,  I  pray,  comfort  me,  cheer 
me; 
Lest  to  my  heavy  heart  hope  be  a  stranger, 
Faith  find  her  grave  with  my  dead. 


AT   THE   FOUNDLING  HOSPITAL 


.L/OOK  up,  little  baby,  that  way  is  heaven; 

The  moon's  white  face 
Shines  out  from  the  cloud  like  a  soul  just 
shriven, 

With  tenderest  grace; 
The  blessed  stars  are  looking  with  pity 

Right  down  on  you; 
If  men  and  women  in  this  great  city 

Were  merciful,  too! 

Long  in  the  hiding-place  I  waited 

That  death  might  come; 
With  the  bitter  draughts  of  sorrow  sated, 

My  soul  sat  dumb; 
But  a  baby's  hand  unloosed  the  cerements 

That  held  love  fast, 
And  the  old  dull  pain  in  the  new  endearments 

Was  stilled  at  last. 

But  now,  they  tell  us,  the  joy  is  over; 
For  your  sake,  dear  — 
15 


16     THE    FOUNDLING    HOSPITAL 

That  the  world  may  never  the  shame  dis- 
cover — 

I  leave  you  here; 
Where  the  candle  burns  behind  the  curtain 

The  white  crib  waits; 
And  care  and  comfort  for  you  are  certain 

Within  these  gates. 

0  soft  little  hand,  whose  smooth  caresses 

Still  search  my  face, 
0  far-looking  eyes,  whose  mute  addresses 

Have  won  Heaven's  grace, 
0  sweet  red  lips,  that  have  drawn  the  sorrow 

From  out  my  heart, 
You  are  mine  tonight,  but  tomorrow  —  to- 
morrow! 

Nay,  do  not  start! 

These  feet,   when  they  totter,   some   hand 
shall    steady, 

Not  mine  —  not  mine ! 
Round  somebody's  neck  these  arms  so  ruddy 

Shall  cling  and  twine; 
In  the  solemn  twilight  I  see  you  kneeling 

At  some  low  knee; 
0  baby,  I  need  you,  for  my  soul's  healing, 

To  pray  for  me. 


THE     FOUNDLING     HOSPITAL        17 

Look  up,  little  baby!   this  is  your  mother! 

Once  more  —  once  more! 
I  must  not  tarry,  the  feet  of  another 

Are  at  the  door; 
0  pitiful  Christ,  my  poor  heart  breaketh 

To  drink  this  cup! 
Yet  this,  my  child,  whom  the  mother  for- 
saketh, 

Wilt  Thou  take  up? 

Stay!     Let    me    look    through    the    parted 
curtain. 

My  child  is  there; 
All  round  the  room,  amazed,  uncertain, 

Her  blue  eyes  stare. 
'Tis  a  motherly  face  that  beams  above  her, 

As  all  may  see; 
God   love   you,    woman,    because   you   love 
her  — 

What !  crying  for  me? 

Quick!    open  the  door!    give  me  back  my 
baby! 
Hush,  dear!  don't  cry! 
You  are  kind,  dear  people,  and  good,  it  may 
be, 
Xo  saint  am  I; 


18       THE    FOUNDLING    HOSPITAL 

But  God  gave  me,  and  not  another, 

This  child  from  heaven; 
He  will  require  of  me,  the  mother, 

What  He  hath  given! 

Come,  innocent  one!  our  cross  we'll  carry, 

Our  shame  despise, 
For  He  who  faints  not,  neither  is  weary, 

Will  hear  our  cries; 
We'll  take  His  staff  and  lift  our  burden 

With  strength  divine; 
For  a  mother's  love  shall  be  your  guerdon, 

My  child's  love  mine. 


THE   BABY    OVER   THE   WAY 


1  HERE  is  the  window  over  the  way 
That  was  lit  with  a  baby's  face  by  day; 
But  the  shutters  are  closed,  and  by  the 
door 
The  doctor's  gig  for  an  hour  has  stood, 

And  they  tell  us  —  the  little  gossips  four 
Who  bring  us  the  news  of  the  neighborhood, 
That  the  doctor  is  coming  every  day 
To  see  the  baby  over  the  way. 

The  terrible  scarlet  scourge  has  come; 
And  brother  and  sister  are  sent  from  home; 

Each  day  they  come  to  the  gate  to  hear 
From  the  mother's  lips  how  the  baby  is, 
And  the  face  is  blanching  with  trouble  and 
fear, 
That  drops  from  the  window  the  mournful 
kiss, 
For  in  spite  of  the  skill  of  doctor  and  nurse 
The  baby  over  the  way  grows  worse. 
19 


20   THE  BABY  OVER  THE  WAY 

When  midnight  hushes  the  city's  noise, 
We  hear  the  sound  of  a  feeble  voice, 

And  know  that  the  room  where  the  light 
burns  low 
Holds  hearts   that  watch   for   the   morning 
light; 
What  the  day  shall  bring  if  they  could  but 
know, 
They  would  cling  to  the  lingering  hours  of 
night; 
For  hearts  will  break  with  the  breaking 

day, 
When  the  long  watch  closes  over  the  way. 

The  baby  over  the  way  is  dead, 

And  the  mourners  will  not  be  comforted; 

0  desolate  ones,  no  stranger's  voice 
May  break  your  silence,  for  words  are  cheap; 

Your  griefs  we  tell  by  our  tenderest  joys; 
Our  four  little  gossips  are  warm  asleep; 

Would    it    lighten    your    burden    if    you 
knew 

That  here,  in  the  dark,  we  are  crying  with 
you? 


THE    MURDERER    OF    THE    PERIOD 

IES.     I    shot    him.     What    of   it?     You 

make   a   great   row 
About  a  small  matter,  I  think. 
The  eye  flashing  fire  and  the  cloud  on  the 
brow 
Tell    of   vengeance;     but    why   should    I 
shrink? 
You  public  that  rages;    you  journals  that 
rave 
When  a  dog's  day  ends  quickly,  like  this, 
Pray  save  your  sharp  words  for  some  business 
more  grave; 
Don't  waste  your  hot  breath  in  a  hiss. 

I  was  mad  when  I  shot  him  —  a  minute  or 
two ; 
Will    was    lost,    judgment    blind,    reason 
blank; 
Will  you  punish  the  deed  that  a  madman 
must  do? 
Blame  the  mill  when  the  fates  turn  the 
crank? 

21 


22     MURDERER     OF    THE     PERIOD 

True,  I  knew  it  was  coming  —  this  madness; 
I  thought 
If  I  met  him,  he  surely  would  die; 
So  lest  hell  miss  its   prey,  the  good  pistol 
was  bought; 
'Twas  the  frenzy  that  bought  it,  not  I. 

But  what,  after  all,  is  the  pother  about? 

A  man  (or  a  dog,  say)  is  dead. 
Is  a  dog  or  a  man  worth  this  tumult  and 
rout? 

How  much  are  they  worth  —  by  the  head? 
In  the  struggle  for  life,  so  the  sages  will  say, 

One  man  has  gone  down  —  that  is  all; 
But  'tis   always   the  strongest  survive  the 
affray; 

The  weakest  get  pushed  to  the  wall. 

Here  was  live  protoplasm,  six  quarters  or  so; 

Now  'tis  dead  protoplasm,  what  more? 
No  force  has  been  lost,  as  the  chemists  will 
show, 

The  world  is  as  rich  as  before. 
All  the  atoms  are  here,  all  the  builders  are  here, 

And  better  work  waits  them,  no  doubt; 
You    zealots,    who    clamor    for    vengeance 
severe, 

Do  you  know  what  you're  talking  about? 


M   I    R  D  E  R  E  R     OF    THE     PERIOD     23 

Pray,  what   have  I  done?     There  are  forces 
that  play 
And  tissues  that  waste  in  the  brain; 
Some  acetous  ferment  waked  the  passion  to 
slay; 
'Twas  the  same,  very  likely,  with  Cain. 
Will  you  fly  in  the  face  of  a  kingdom  of  laws? 

Do  you  call  a  secretion  a  sin? 
Is  the  steel  when  it  rusts,  or  the  snow  when 
it  thaws, 
A  criminal,  too,  of  my  kin? 

Do  bethink  you,  good  people;    hear  reason 
at  last; 
The  vengeance  you  ask  for  is  vain; 
You  are  haunted  by  ghosts  of  a  day  that  is 
past  — 
Mere  films  of  a  fatuous  brain. 
Guilt,    crime,    obligation  —  such   words    are 
outworn; 
On  the  ear  of  true  science  they  jar; 
And  you  surely  can't  know,  in  your  anger 
and  scorn, 
How  unscientific  you  are. 


CAWS   AND   EFFECT 


N: 


INE  metaphysicians,  perched  aloft 
On  the  top  of  a  dry  pine  tree, 
Have  talked  all  day  in  a  marvelous  way 
Of  divine  philosophy. 

No  wild,  Coleridgean  ramblers  they 

All  over  the  realm  of  laws, 
They  stick  to  their  text,  however  perplext, 

The  doctrine  (and  practise)  of  caws. 

The  biggest  crow,  on  the  nearest  limb, 

Gave  first,  with  never  a  pause, 
A  clear,  profound,  deliberate,  sound 

Discourse  of  proximate  caws. 

A  theologue  in  a  cassock  clad, 

With  a  choker  under  his  jaws, 
And  a  cold  in  his  head,  either  sung  or  said 

A  treatise  of  second  caws. 

A  fish-hawk  lit  on  the  topmost  limb, 
With  a  pickerel  in  his  claws, 
24 


CAWS    AND     EFFECT  25 

When  small  and  great  began  to  debate 
Concerning  efficient  caws. 

And  when,  at  the  close,  the  congress  rose, 

I  saw  two  old  crows  pause, 
And  what  they  said,  as  they  flew  o'erhead, 

Had  the  sound  of  final  caws. 

No  longer  in  me,  0  Philosophy, 

Thy  devotee  expect; 
In  spite  of  thy  laws  here's  a  chain  of  caws, 

And  not  one  single  effect. 


QUESTION   AND   ANSWER 

l\.  VOICE  spake  out  of  the  skies 
To  a  just  man  and  a  wise  — 
"The  world  and  all  within  it 
Will  only  last  a  minute!" 
Then  a  beggar  began  to  cry, 
"Food,  food  or  I  die!" 
Is  it  worth  his  while  to  eat, 
Or  mine  to  give  him  meat, 
If  the  world  and  all  within  it 
Were  nothing  the  next  minute? 

Alfred  Tennyson. 


I 


F  the  world  and  all  within  it 
Could  only  last  a  minute, 
A  Voice  from  beyond  the  sky 
To  the  good  wise  man  would  cry: 
"Let  this  last  minute  shine 
With  the  light  of  a  grace  divine! 
Let  the  hungry  see  thee  stand 
With  a  loaf  in  the  helping  hand ! 
So  the  world  and  its  works  shall  end 
With  the  benison  of  a  friend." 
26 


MARK   HOPKINS 

Read   before  the   Alumni   of    Williams   College, 
June,  1887 


A  0  the  Tishbite,  stony-eyed 

With  a  sorrow  no  speech  might  break, 
'Twas  the  callow  prophets  cried: 

"Knowest  thou  that  the  Lord  will  take 
Our  master  from  us  today,  — 

That  today  his  voice  shall  cease?" 
"Yea,"  saith  the  prophet;   "yea, 

I  know  it:   hold  ye  your  peace!" 

No  sons  of  the  prophets  we; 

To  us  no  vision  came 
Of  the  whirlwind's  majesty, 

And  the  chariot  of  flame; 
Yet  forth  from  us  one  was  caught 

To  the  seats  of  the  seraphim,  — 
Our  master;  lo,  he  was  not, 

For  God  had  taken  him. 

List!  the  morning  stars  are  hushed 
As  the  mighty  soul  takes  wing, 


28  MARKHOPKINS 

And  the  tremulous  skies  are  flushed 
Where  the  portals  open  swing; 

From  the  earth,  no  voice  nor  cry, 

From  the  heaven  but  the  dropping  dew, 

And  for  men  who  are  drawing  nigh 
Unto  heaven,  there  is  silence,  too. 

No  murmuring  note  we  raise, 

No  dubious  word  we  dare; 
For  the  prophet,  the  heart's  deep  praise; 

For  his  mantle,  a  voiceless  prayer,  — 
Translated,  as  it  was  meet, 

Ere  his  spirit's  eye  grew  dim; 
From  the  paths  that  knew  his  feet 

It  was  only  a  step  for  him. 

0  kingly  soul!  dost  thou 

From  the  blue  above  us  bend 
With  a  benediction  now? 

To  us  who  loved  thee,  send 
Thy  peace,  in  our  hearts  to  stay, 

Thy  courage,  our  souls  to  cheer? 
We  wait  for  thy  voice  today, 

For,  verily,  thou  art  here. 

We  see  thee,  standing  there, 
The  tall  form  gravely  bent, 


MARK     HOPKINS  29 

The  thin  and  silvery  hair 

O'er  the  lordly  dome  besprent, 
The  keen  uplifted  glance, 

The  long  arm's  curving  sweep, 
The  serious  countenance 

Where  the  merry  twinkles  sleep; 

We  hear  thee  speaking  now, 

Each  weighty  word  well  weighed, 
Simple,  and  clear  and  slow, 

Xo  rattling  fanfaronade 
Of  words,  but  a  master's  thought, 

Untainted  by  sneers  or  gibes, 
Like  His  who  the  people  taught 

With  authority,  not  as  the  scribes. 

And  now  come  memories  fleet 

Of  the  dear  delightful  days 
When  we  sat  at  this  master's  feet, 

And  spake  with  him  face  to  face; 
The  plain  old  room  once  more, 

With  its  serried  benches  bare, 
And  the  Teacher,  sitting  before, 

In  his  quaint  old  swinging  chair. 

Now  a  question  strikes  a  spark, 
And  the  theme  begins  to  shine, 


30  MARKHOPKINS 

Till  the  truth  that  once  was  dark 
Is  touched  with  a  gleam  divine; 

There  find  we  guidance  meet 
In  a  way  we  had  not  known, 

From  the  pebbles  under  our  feet 
To  the  sapphire  under  the  Throne. 

And  ever  the  quickening  word 

That  finds  us,  and  leaves  us,  men; 
"Stand  up!"  the  summons  is  heard; 

"What  answerest  thou  again? 
Thus  Plato  reasoned  of  old; 

Thus  Spencer  reasoneth  now; 
Thus  Kant  hath  the  story  told; 

Thou  hearest,  what  sayest  thou? 

"For  thyself  be  wise,  walk  thou 

In  the  light  that  lighteth  thee, 
For  the  truth  that  thou  dost  know, 

Is  the  truth  that  maketh  free; 
And  lo !  he  is  ever  nigh 

Who  is  Lord  and  Giver  of  light; 
To  him  lift  up  thine  eye, 

And  he  shall  guide  thee  aright." 

And  ever,  amid  the  noise 

Of  the  world's  tumultuous  throng, 


MARK     HOPKINS  31 

Wc  have  heard  that  august  voice, 

"Up!  quit  you  like  men;   be  strong!" 

We  shall  hear,  as  we  have  heard, 
Till  the  last  long  silence  fall; 

For  the  master's  quickening  word, 
It  abideth  with  us  all. 


ALMA   MATER 


D 


'RAWN  from  hill  and  plain  and  prairie, 

from  the  lands  of  corn  and  pine, 
We  are  gathered,  Alma  Mater,  for  our  love 

of  thee  and  thine; 
Silver    hairs    and    beardless    faces,    men    of 

words  and  men  of  deeds, 
Followers  of  many   callings,   worshipers   of 

many  creeds, 
Well  content  in  mind  to  differ,  only  so  that 

we  may  be 
Loyal  to  our  Alma  Mater,  one  in  love  to 

thine  and  thee. 


ii 


Bond  is  this  that  brings  no  burden,  loyalty 

that  never  shames, 
Pure  the  heart  on  whose  high  altar  such  a 

blameless  passion  flames; 
32 


A  L  II  A     MATER  33 

Not  for  gold  and  not  for  glory  cherish  we 

our  love  for  thee, 
From  all  soilure  of  the  senses  is  the  heart's 

devotion  free; 
For  the  gift  for  which  our  praises  and  our 

thanks  to  thee  unite, 
Is  the  bounty  of  the  spirit,  is  the  boon  of 

Life  and  Light. 

in 

Alma  Mater,  we  invoke  thee!  let  thy  sons 

behold  thy  face! 
Wilt  thou  not,  for  our  imploring,  deign  our 

festival  to  grace? 
In  our  speech  we  often  name  thee;  in  our 

songs  we  tell  thy  worth; 
Show  us  something  of  thy  presence;  let  us 

see  thee  on  the  earth! 
Nothing  ghostly  can  we  deem  thee;  kindred 

of  our  souls  art  thou; 
Speak,  that  we  may  well  discern  thee,  and 

hold  converse  with  thee  now! 

IV 

Stately  mountains,  strong  and  silent,  warders 
of  the  valley  sweet, 


34  ALMA     MATER 

Capped  with  clouds   and   clad  with  forests, 

meadows  nestling  at  your  feet, 
Writing  out  your  mighty  legend  in  the  bold 

horizon  lines, 
Roaring   out  your   savage   saga,   when   the 

wind  raves  through  the  pines, 
Green  with  all  the  tints  of  spring-time  when 

the  May's  sweet  voices  call, 
Flaming,  like  the  fires  of  sunset,  when  the 

frosts  of  autumn  call,  — 


Valley  of  the  winding  river,  guarded  by  the 
mountains  strong, 

Where  the  little  hills,  rejoicing,  join  the  pas- 
tures in  their  song,  — 

Halls  and  towers  and  groves  and  temples 
rising  now  in  vision  clear, 

Beautiful  for  situation,  fair  to  sight,  to  mem- 
ory dear,  — 

Ye  are  not  our  Alma  Mater;  ye  are  but  the 
sacred  shrine 

Of  a  spirit  free,  transcendent;  of  a  Life 
unseen,  divine. 


ALM  A     MATER  35 


VI 

Stately  halls  and  towers  will  crumble;   brick 

and  stone  will  turn  to  dust; 
All  the  treasures  men  can  gather  prove  a 

prey  to  moth  and  rust; 
But  the  life  of  Alma  Mater  waneth  not  with 

passing  years; 
On  her  brow,  "Time  writes  no  wrinkle,"  in 

her  steady  eye  appears 
Not  a  trace  of  age  or  dimness,  in  her  locks  no 

streak  of  gray, 
For  her  life  is  life  immortal  and  she  knoweth 

not  decay. 

VII 

Nay,  thou  art  no  ghost,  our  Mother,  yet  no 
shape  of  sense  art  thou; 

Truth  thou  art,  and  Trust  and  Honor;  Wis- 
dom sits  upon  thy  brow; 

Honest  Thought  and  High  Endeavor  are 
thy  left  hand  and  thy  right; 

Faith  thy  vital  breath  and  being,  Hope  thy 
vision,  Love  thy  light: 

Eyes  can  see  not,  ears  can  hear  not  all  that 
thou  art  called  to  be, 


36  ALMA    MATER 

For  the  Spirit  in  its  freedom  lives  and  loves 
and  rules  in  thee. 


VIII 

So  we  welcome  thee,  enthrone  thee,  Alma 

Mater,  at  our  feast; 
Reverently  thy  sons  salute  thee;  art  thou 

not  our  welcome  guest? 
Here  we  stand  with  heads  uncovered,  and, 

with  minds  attentive,  wait 
For  thy  gracious  benediction,  for  thy  smile 

benign,  sedate; 
Hast  thou  not  some  word  of  wisdom,  truth 

to  hearten,  hope  to  cheer? 
There  is  silence,  Alma  Mater;  speak,  and  we, 

thy  sons,  will  hear. 

IX 

Something  stiller  than  the  silence,  something 

softer  than  a  sound 
Falls  upon  the  inward  ear  as  falls  the  dew 

upon  the  ground: 
"For  your  words  of  love,  my  children,  for 

the  bounty  of  your  praise, 
Take  my  blessing;    let  it  brighten  all  the 

remnant  of  your  days! 


ALMA     MATER  37 

With  my  sons  I  share  my  honor;  all  I  have 
to  you  I  give; 

In  your  weal  I  find  my  welfare,  in  your  hap- 
piness I  live. 


"In  the  peace  of  that  fair  valley  where  the 

heavens  are  near  and  kind, 
And   the    blessed    balms   of    silence   soothe 

the  heart  and  calm  the  mind, 
Where  no  reek  nor  roar  of  cities  soils  the 

thought  nor  storms  the  sense, 
And  the  stars  are  mine  for  counsel  and  the 

mountains  for  defense, 
There  I  guard  the  sacred  fire,   and  there  I 

list  the  living  word 
Only  to  the  prudent  spoken,   only  by  the 

humble  heard. 

XI 

"There  your  loyal  love  has  built  for  me  a 

many-mansioned  seat, 
By  your  bounty  you  have  made  it  for  my 

use  and  service  meet; 
For  your  liberal  care  I  praise  you;    only  let 

us  ponder  well 


38  ALMAMATER 

That  the  life  is  more  than  form  and  that  the 

pearl  is  not  the  shell; 
Shapely  souls  our  art  must  fashion;  ample 

lives  our  toil  must  build; 
Care  we  first  that  hall  and   cloister  shall 

with  manly  men  be  filled. 

XII 

"Ye  are  seeking  how  to  serve  me;   ye  have 

thought  how  ye  may  best 
Fill  my  days  with  peace  and  plenty,  make 

my  life  more  fully  blest; 
Hear  me  then,  while  I  adjure  you  by  the 

love  ye  bear  to  me, 
That  ye  lift  on  high  forever  Kingly  Truth 

that  maketh  free; 
That  ye  keep  your  faith  in  honest  worth  and 

honor  without  stain; 
That  ye  hate  the  bribes  of  Mammon  and  the 

heresy  of  Cain. 

XIII 

"Words  I  hear  —  yet  hear  not  often  in  the 

valley  where  I  dwell  — 
Noisome  words,  whose  exhalations  overcome 

me  like  a  spell,  — 


A  L  M  A     II  A  T  E  R  39 

Filling   all   the   walks   of  wisdom    with   the 

maxims  of  the  mart, 
Showing  how  the  roots  of  honor  from  the 

mold  of  lucre  start,  — 
That  the  'greatest  need'  of  Learning — nay 

I  will  not  name  the  name, 
For  the  greatest  need  of  Learning  is  to  blush 

for  this  her  shame. 

XIV 

"'Learning's  need?'  not  millions;    nay,  but 

men  of  light  and  power  and  truth, 
Men  whose  steady  flame  shall  kindle  glow 

of  love  in  generous  youth; 
Men  whose  life  is  not  for  lucre;  men  to  whom 

the  scholar's  call 
Is  for  duty,  not  for  fodder,  like  the  cattle  in 

the  stall. 
Can   ye   buy   them   in   the   market?     Nay, 

more  dear  their  life  they  hold; 
Who  have  given  their  lives  for  love  can  never 

sell  their  souls  for  gold. 

xv 

"Give  me  men  to  stand  before  me  as  the 
years  my  life  renew; 


40  ALMA    MATER 

Men,   heroic,   consecrated,   to   the   scholar's 

function  true; 
With  the  soul  of  mighty  Alcuin,  with  old 

Beda's  courage  high, 
Wiclif's  vision  of  the  future,  Colet's  glorious 

constancy; 
Give  me  these  and  Learning  need  not  with 

the  powers  of  greed  confer; 
All  things  that  her  life  requireth  shall  be 

added  unto  her. 


XVI 

"Yea,    and  ye,   my  loyal   children,   ye  my 

witnesses  shall  stand 
With  the  word  of  valiant  counsel,  with  the 

truth  in  your  right  hand; 
Ye  shall  bear  with  me  the  burden  of  the 

spirit's  royal  strife, 
Ye  shall  share  with  me  the  guerdon  of  the 

joy  that  crowneth  life; 
So  I  hail  you,  and  I  bless  you !  may  the  years 

your  hopes  increase, 
And    the   lengthening   days    grow   brighter, 

and  the  end  thereof  be  peace!" 


HAIL  AND    FAREWELL 
J.   G.   IL,    1819-1881 


M 


OUXTAIX,    that    watchest    down    the 
vale 
Most  like  a  couchant  lion, 
Wide,  winding  river,  whose  fair  breast 

Soft  south  winds  gently  die  on, 
Lift  up  the  head;  flow  still  and  slow, 

Let  no  chill  blast  now  chide  you, 
For  one  who  loved  you  long  ago 
Lies  down  to  sleep  beside  you. 

You  nursed  within  his  boyish  heart 

The  springing  love  of  beauty, 
You  taught  him,  by  your  steadfast  ways, 

The  deeper  lore  of  duty: 
Your  shade  and  shine  about  him  lay 

In  life's  abundant  labor, 
And  now  the  mound  that  holds  his  dust 

Shall  be  your  lowly  neighbor. 
41 


42  HAIL    AND     FAREWELL 

A  good,  brave  man,  a  blameless  man, 

He  lived  and  wrought  among  us; 
The  truth  he  taught,  the  tales  he  told, 

The  heart-songs  that  he  sung  us, 
All  shine  with  white  sincerity, 

All  thrill  with  strong  conviction; 
His  words  were  seeds  of  honest  deeds, 

His  life  a  benediction. 


The  art  he  loved  was  not  the  art 

That  finds  its  end  in  pleasing; 
He  loved  to  help  and  serve  and  bless 

With  toil  and  care  unceasing; 
No  gift,  he  said,  its  fruit  hath  borne 

Until  with  love  'tis  mated; 
No  art  is  high,  no  art  is  pure, 

That  is  not  consecrated. 

And  thus,  with  kindly  souls  who  pass 

Through  Baca's  vale  of  weeping, 
Beside  whose  way  the  fountains  play, 

Joy-bringing,  verdure-keeping, 
From  strength  to  strength  this  pilgrim  went, 

With  grace  that  ne'er  forsook  him, 
Till  suddenly,  at  break  of  day, 

He  was  not,  for  God  took  him. 


HAIL     AND     FAREWELL  43 

We  tell  our  loss,  we  bear  our  pain, 

Still  thankful  hearts  upraising, 
For  life  so  large  and  fruit  so  fair 

Our  God  the  giver  praising. 
The  heart  must  bleed,  the  tears  must  fall, 

But  smiles  through  tear-drops  glitter; 
We  drink  the  cup,  and  grateful  find 
The  sweet  within  the  bitter. 

0  mountain,  guard  his  precious  dust; 

0  river,  seaward  flowing, 
By  night  your  softest  dews  bestow 

To  keep  the  grasses  growing 
That  ever,  with  the  bitter-sweet, 

His  sacred  grave  shall  cover  — 
Servant  of  man  and  friend  of  God, 

Brave  thinker,  steadfast  lover. 


UNCLE   SAM'S    CHRISTMAS 
1898 


U: 


NCLE    SAM     is    sitting    there,    in    his 
high-backed  easy  chair, 

In  an  old  colonial  hall,  bright  with  banners 
on  the  wall, 

And  with  pictures  dimly  seen  all  the  starry 
folds  between,  — 

Bunker  Hill,   Ticonderoga,   Trenton,   York- 
town,  Saratoga, 

Gettysburg's  decisive  day,  smoke  of  Santi- 
ago Bay. 

Through  the  windows  far  and  fair,  in  the 
crisp  December  air, 

Stretch  the  meadows,  slopes  and  vales,  in- 
land seas  with  snowy  sails, 

Mighty  rivers  winding  slow,  mountains  with 
their  crowns  of  snow, 

Farms   and  hamlets,   roaring  marts,   happy 
homes  and  loyal  hearts. 

East  and  west  his  glances  stray,  in  a  satis- 
fied survey, 

44 


UNCLE     S  A  M  '  S     CHRISTMAS      45 

And  he  harvests  with  his  eye  all  the  wealth 
of  earth  and  sky, 

And  his  look  returns  content  from  the  teem- 
ing continent. 

Then  upon  his  feet  he  stands,  and  he 
stretches  forth  his  hands, 

And  I  hear  him  breathe  a  prayer  for  the 
children  of  his  care, 

And  as  to  and  fro  he  walks,  to  himself  he 
softly  talks: 

"Wall,  the  boys  and  gals,  I  take  it, 

Is  a  doin'  fairly  well; 
After  all  the  fuss  an'  racket 

Chris'mas  brings  a  breathin'  spell. 
Pretty  likely  lot  o'  youngsters! 

Mebby  'taint  fer  me  to  say, 
But  whenever  this  old  tongue  stirs 

It  will  talk  in  jest  that  way. 

"Pooty  noom'rous,  that's  a  fact,  sirs; 

Swarmin',  like,  within  our  doors; 
Cities  gittin'  closely  packed,  sirs; 

Pourin'  in  on  all  our  shores. 
Like  a  cloud  the  people  gather, 

From  all  lands  beneath  the  sky: 


46      UNCLE     SAM'S     CHRISTMAS 

Doves  o'  many  a  flock  an'  feather, 
To  our  winders  see  'em  fly! 

"Wall  there's  room  enough,  I  reckon, 

Fer  a  few  more  millions  yit; 
'Shet  the  gates  'n'  put  the  brek  on?' 

Don't  like  that  a  little  bit! 
Man  is  man  an'  woman's  woman, 

'Taint  no  diff'runce  where  they's  bred; 
'Nuthin's  furrin  to  me  that's  human'; 

Wasn't  that  what  some  old  chap  said? 

"Yas,  I  know  they's  some  'ats  fractious, 

Sorter  itchin'  to  have  a  spat; 
Some  'ats  now  and  then  distractious, 

Some  'at  don't  know  where  they's  at; 
But  jest  hold  'em  ca'm  an'  stiddy, 

Soon  they  git  to  understand 
'Taint  no  use  in  gittin'  giddy, 

An'  they  larn  to  love  the  land. 

"So  I  take  the  hull  blamed  bilin', 
Teuton,  Celt,  an'  Czech,  an'  Pole, 

Slick  Eyetalian,  Dutchman  smilin', 
Scandinavian,  bland  Mongole, 

Chuck  'em  into  the  skule-house  hopper, 
Grind  'em  over,  once  'n'  agen, 


UNCLE     S  A  M  '  S     CHRISTMAS       47 

Out  they'll  drop  at  last,  the  proper 
Yankee  brand  of  American  men. 

"  So  I  like  tu  think  'em  all  over, 

Every  kindred  an'  tongue  an'  line, 
Ploughman,  tradesman,  ocean  rover, 

Man  at  the  masthead,  man  in  the  mine, 
Man  at  the  bench,  at  the  desk,  at  the  lever, 

Schoolmarm,  kitchen-gal,  shop-maid,  scribe, 
Mother  o'  men  an'  sweet  peace-weaver, 

All  my  children  of  every  tribe,  — 

"Up  on  the  banks  o'  the  Androscoggin, 

Daown  where  the  alligators  sleep, 
Out  in  the  Michigin  woods  a-loggin', 

'Long  o'  the  Canyuns  wild  an'  deep, 
Pilin'  the  sugar  cane,  pullin'  the  cotton, 

Boxin'  the  or'nges,  huskin'  the  corn,  — 
No,  they  ain't  none  on  'em  skipped  'r  f'r- 
gotten; 

Good  luck  toiler  'em,  evenin'  an'  morn! 

"Naow,  in  the  nippin'  winter  weather, 
Jest  as  the  sun  to  the  up-grade  shifts, 

I  kin  see  'em,  gittin'  together 

Chris'mas  greens  'n'  Chris'mas  gifts; 

All  the  land  is  alive  with  givers; 


48      UNCLE     SAM'S     CHRISTMAS 

Gittin',  for  naow,  has  gone  to  the  rear; 
Peace  'n'  good  will  —  they  flow  like  rivers; 
Happiest  time  of  all  the  year! 

"Wall,  my  children,  I'm  a  wonderin' 

What  my  Chris'mas  gifts  shall  be : 
Your  old  Uncle  goes  a-blunderin' 

Raound  to  the  winders,  to  look  an'  see 
What  he  can  git  'ats  worth  the  givin'; 

What'll  tickle  you  thru  'n'  thru; 
Somethin'  to  make  your  life  wuth  livin', 

Somethin'  'ats  hullsome  'n'  fresh,  'n'  new. 

"Best  things,  mebby,  aint  in  the  winders; 

I  suspicion  'at  that's  a  fact; 
Goods  wuth  most  tu  gitters  'n'  senders 

Can't  be  crated,  'n'  boxed  'n'  packed: 
Mine'll  hof  to  go  by  the  sky-line, 

Same  way  Tesla  sends  his  news; 
4  Lovers'    Lightnin'    Dispatch,'  —  that's    my 
line, 

Skips  through    the  air  'n'  drops  like  the 
dews. 

"So  here  goes  to  the  hull  o'  the  people; 

All  o'  the  good  'at  life  kin  hold; 
Peace  in  the  heart?  yes,  that's  the  staple; 


UNCLE    SAM'S    CHRISTMAS      49 

Love  in  the  home  —  that's  better  'n  gold. 
'Taint  fer  me  to  be  wishin'  'em  riches; 

That's  comin'  fast  enough  naow,  I  guess; 
Better  be  knittin'  up  raveled  stitches 

Of  quiet  content  'n'  happiness. 

"'Taint  'at  they  need  much  more,  I  take  it; 

'Tis  'at  it  might  be  better  shared; 
Bread  enough  naow,  if  they's  love  to  break  it; 

Greed's  the  stuff  'at  kin  well  be  spared; 
Them  'at's  climbin'  the  billion  ladder 

Work,  I  think,  at  the  devil's  chores; 
That  old  sarpint  is  naow  the  adder, 

Tryin'  to  add  up  all  out-doors. 

"Yas,  they's  some  stands  all  day  waitin', 

Cause  no  man  aint  offered  'em  work; 
That's  the  horror  'at  wants  abatin', 

Bondage  wuss'n  the  nameless  Turk  — 
Shame  'at  the  man  'at  wants  to  labor, 

Ever  gits  fed  on  a  pauper's  crust; 
Love  'at  worketh  no  ill  tu  his  neighbor 

Kin  du  better  'n  that  I  trust. 

"No,  I  know  'at  there  aint  so  many 

Idle  naow  as  a  year  ago; 
But,  you  mind  me!  long  as  there's  any, 


50       UNCLE     SAM'S     CHRISTMAS 

Suthin'  is  wrong  with  the  world,  I  know. 
Not  to  coddle  'n'  cosset,  'n'  pamper,  — 

That  aint  our  American  plan, 
Jest  a  free  field  'n'  nuthin'  to  hamper; 

Give  him  a  chance  of  bein'  a  man. 

"Yas,  ef  yer  Uncle  could  so  contrive  it, 

Every  man  should  have  suthin'  to  du; 
Life,  like  honey,  wants  work  to  hive  it; 

Work's  the  fortin'  I've  left  to  yeou. 
Work  for  the  workless,  help  for  the  lowly, 

Love  'at  shelters,  'n'  love  'at  shares; 
Peace  'at  shines  from  the  manger  holy,  — 

Sech  is  yer  Uncle's  Chris'mas  prayers. 

"What'll  I  git  this  year,  I  wonder? 

What  are  you  goin'  to  du  fer  me? 
Yas,  yer  Uncle's  a  peekin'  under 

The  curtain  'at  hides  his  Chris'mas  tree; 
Several  things  he'd  like  to  see  there, 

Things  nobody  but  you  kin  bring; 
Things  so  precious  that  if  they  be  there, 

Your  old  Uncle  '11  dance  'n'  sing. 

"'Sech  as  what?'     Wall,  a  few  clean  cities, 

Purged  with  the  besom  of  pop'lar  ire; 
Where  no  longer  the  game  of  wit  is 


UNCLE     S  AM  '  S     CHRISTMAS       51 

Robbin'  the  taown  'n'  playin'  with  fire; 
Cities  where  law  is  alive,  and  knows  it; 

Cities  where  plunderers  das'nt  stay; 
Whirlwind  seed  an'  the  fiend  'at  sows  it, 

Swep'  by  the  people's  wrath  away. 

"That's  one  thing;  'n'  here's  its  mate,  sir,  — 

Uncle  Sam  'd  be  glad  to  git,  — 
Every  place  in  nation  'n'  state,  sir, 

Filled  with  men  'ats  sound  'n'  fit. 
Heavens!  for  my  gret  tasks,  don't  send  me 

Sharpers,  'n'  sponges,  'n'  boors,  'n'  loons,  — 
Wolves  'ats  waitin'  to  turn  'n'  rend  me, 

Sneaks  'ats  watchin'  to  steal  my  spoons. 

"'Taint  the  way  you'd  oughter  treat  me, 

In  these  tumble  times  of  test; 
Find  me  the  men  'at's  fit  to  meet  me; 

Pick  me  your  cleanest,  strongest,  best; 
All  the  ills  'at  the  state  is  heir  to,  — 

Here's  the  cure  for  'em,  once  'n'  again: 
You  kin  end  'em  whenever  you  care  to,  — 

Fill  your  places  with  faithful  men. 

"Wall,  let's  quit  that!     Suthin'  shinin' 
There  in  the  Chris'mas  greens  I  see! 
Pines  'n'  palms  all  clus  a-twinin' 


52      UNCLE     SAM'S     CHRISTMAS 

Jeweled  with  loyal  love  for  me! 
Under  the  branches  I  see  'em  singin', 

Cryin',  'n'  stoppin'  naow  to  pray; 
'Union  forever!'     I  hear  it  ringin',  — 

'One  flag  naow  fer  the  blue  'n'  the  gray!' 

"There     hangs     a    picter    of    two     hands 
stretchin' 

Over  the  sea  fer  a  friendly  shake, 
Olive  branch,  aint  it,  the  hands  is  techin'? 

Ketch  holt,  partners!  don't  never  break! 
Aint  no  folks  like  yer  own  folks,  blame  it! 

What's  the  old  grudges,  all  on  'em,  worth? 
Peace  is  our  portion;  own  it,  claim  it! 

Carry  the  good  news  round  the  earth! 

"Flags  in  the  branches  tell  the  story 

I  don't  need  to  tell  over  today,  — 
Santiago's  record  of  glory! 

Miracle  play  o'  Manila  Bay! 
How  the  hull  land  riz  up  in  splendor, 

Lovin'  liberty,  hatin'  wrong, 
Swift  for  the  poor  to  stand  defender, 

Quick  for  the  weak  to  be  brave  and  strong. 

"These  poor  creeturs,  what's  to  become  on 
'em, 
Stunned  'n'  scattered  by  what  we've  done? 


UNCLE    SAM'S    CHRISTMAS      53 

They'll  need  carin'  for,  anyhow,  some  on  'em; 

Their  wolf-mother  was  better  'n  none. 
Some  folks  say  to  me,  'Nothin's  due  'em; 

Let's  get  shet  on  'em;  leave  'em  alone  1 
Be  a  kind  of  a  step-mother  tu  'em; 

They  want  bread;  let's  give  'em  a  stone.' 

"No,  siree,  sir;  that  aint  me,  sir: 

Uncle  Sam  aint  built  that  way; 
'Taint  enough  to  set  'em  free,  sir; 

What  is  freedom  to  sech  as  they? 
What  they  want  is  a  kindly  hand,  sir, 

Leadin'  'em  aout  o'  the  wilderness; 
What  they  want  is  a  firm  command,  sir, 

Makin'  for  freedom  and  happiness. 

'"Cost  me  suthin'?'     Wall,  I  guess  so; 

This  ere  business  wasn't  for  gain; 
'Taint  wuth  mindin'  the  folks  that  says  so; 

'Twasnt  for  plunder  I  fit  with  Spain; 
I  set  aout  for  to  help  my  neighbor; 

Xaow,  when  he  needs  my  help  the  most, 
Shall  I  stop  and  flunk  in  my  friendly  labor, 

Shirkin'  the  load  'n'  countin'  the  cost? 

"Xo:  I  can  give  'em  help  an'  healin', 
Light,  an'  leadin',  an'  liberty, 


54      UNCLE     SAM'S     CHRISTMAS 

Justice,  an'  faith,  an'  honest  dealin', 
Truth  that  maketh  her  children  free; 

So,  poor  brothers,  I  shall  not  leave  you; 
Such  as  I  am,  with  sword  an'  pen,  — 

Such  as  I  have  I  freely  give  you: 

Stan'  on  your  feet,  an'  I'll  make  you  men." 

So  I  left  him  sitting  there,  in  his  high-backed 

easy  chair, 
With  a  light  upon  his  face  from  some  high 

and  holy  place; 
And  I  heard  him  breathe  a  prayer  for  the 

children  of  his  care, 
And  an  answer  softly  sped  from  the  silence 

overhead, 
While  the  church  bells  far  away  rang  the 

chimes  of  Christmas  day. 


URBS   BEATA 

Read   at  the   One  Hundredth   Anniversary  of  the 
Founding  of  Columbus,  Ohio.     Sept.  1,  1912. 

W  E  come  at  length,  as  shadows  length- 
ening fall, 
To  the  last  hour  of  our  high  festival; 
In  "God's  first  temple,"  in  the  summer  air 
We   lift   our   hearts   to   him   in   praise   and 

prayer, 
Praise  for  the  good  that  crowns  the  century's 

close, 
Prayer  for  the  light  and  strength  his  grace 

bestows 
On  all  who  humbly  seek  him;   that  the  days 
Now  lying  fair  before  us,  and  the  ways 
Through  which  his  love  shall  lead  us  may  be 

bright 
With  his  o'ershadowing  presence;    that  the 

night 
All  round  us  shall  be  light  because  of  Him; 
That  through  the  murk  and  maze  of  futures 

dim 

55 


56  URBSBEATA 

His  shepherding  may  keep  us,  and  his  power 
Protect  us  in  the  dark  and  perilous  hour. 

We  wait  upon  his  word.    Who  speaks  for 

him? 
Unseal  our  vision!  Let  the  seraphim 
Now  stooping  near  us  touch  our  eyes  to  see 
The  form  that  bends  above  us;  set  us  free 
From  flesh  and  sense,  that  we  may  duly  hear 
The  word  she  speaks  unto  the  inward  ear. 
"Faith  of  Our  Fathers";    let  that  be  the 

name 
By  which  we  know  her.     Evermore  the  same, 
Benignant,  beautiful,  with  radiant  face 
And  smile  that  tells  us  of  a  happy  place, 
With  beckoning  hand,  and  winning  upward 

glance, 
And  sober  yearnings  on  her  countenance. — 
"Faith  of  Our  Fathers"  —  not  their  dogmas 

drear, 
Filling  men's  hearts  with  trouble  and  with 

fear; 
Faith  is  no  fabric  by  logicians  wrought, 
No  sublimate  of  metaphysic  thought, 
No  trap  of  dialectic,  shrewdly  set 
To  catch  incautious  souls  in  error's  net, 
Nor  any  skeleton  with  bony  hands 


URBSBEATA  57 

That  here  today  across  our  pathway  stands; 
Nay,  'tis  a  Spirit,  the  soul  of  trust  and  truth, 
Of  loyalty  and  honor,  grace  and  ruth, 
Through  whom  we  know  God  near,  and  not 

afar, 
And  that  in  him  we  live  and  move  and  are; 
This  is  "Our  Fathers'   Faith,"   their  living 

faith, 
That  kept  them  whole,  in  loss  and  pain  and 

scathe. 
Their  creeds  we  could  not  keep;    their  life 

we  need; 
Their  life  in  God,  for  that  is  life  indeed. 
'Tis  this  fair  form  that  bends  now  from  the 

sky 
With    beckoning    hand    to    tell    us    God    is 

nigh, 
As  near  to  us  as  ever  to  our  sires, 
With  grace  that  pardons,  comforts,  shields, 

inspires. 
Spirit  divine,  we  wait  thy  words  of  cheer: 
(If  any  man  have  ears,  now  let  him  hear.) 
Thou  art  Religion,  not  rite,  nor  book  nor 

ban  — 
The  life  of  God  within  the  soul  of  man; 
Thou  hast  been  with  us  in  the  ages  past; 
What  hast  thou  for  us  in  the  future  vast? 


58  URBSBEATA 

"Ye  seek  to  know"  —  thus  saith  the  Voice 

divine  — 
"What  visions  call  me,  and  what  tasks  are 

mine 
In  days  that  are  before  us.     Ye  do  well 
Thus  to  inquire;  for  oft  beneath  the  spell 
Of  whirling  wheels  and  flying  fires,  man  deems 
That  nothing  is,  outside  the  mindless  streams 
Of  elemental  force;  that  truth  and  right 
Are  apparitions  that  deceive  the  sight; 
That  obligation  binds  no  human  choice; 
That  duty  waits  on  inclination's  voice; 
That    reverence    springs    from    superstition 

stale; 
That  God's  great  law  is  but  an  old  wives' 

tale. 
Too  prone    are  men,    in    these    tumultuous 

years, 
To  still  their  consciences  and  quench  their 

fears, 
To  stifle  all  the  hopes  that  lift  them  higher, 
And  feed  with  snow  the  flame  of  pure  desire; 
This  is  Religion's  task,  to  bring  again 
The  torch  of  truth  to  light  the  lives  of  men; 
To  touch  their  eyes,  that  visions  may  appear 
Of  God's  great  presence,  shining  round  them 

here; 


I'RBS      BEATA  59 

To  lift  the  veil  of  law  that  hides  God's  face 
And  show  that  earth  is  still  a  holy  place; 
That  every  work  of  man  beneath  the  sun, 
By  wisdom  counseled  and  in  love  begun  — 
All  work  whose  purpose  makes  for  human 

weal, 
By  hands  that  toil,  or  serve,  or  help,  or  heal  — 
That   shape   the   fabric   or   that   break   the 

clod  — 
Is  done  by  men  who  needs  must  work  with 

God. 
Yea,  God  is  in  his  world;  no  prophet  old 
Could  trace  his  power  in  shapes  so  manifold 
As  those  which  daily  hold  your  wondering  eyes 
In  loving  work  that  round  about  you  lies; 
To  find  him  here;   his  wise  designs  to  see; 
To  join  your  wills  with  his  in  service  free, 
This  is  the  task  Religion  finds  for  you 
Who  seek  her  ways  to  know,  her  will  to  do. 
She  brings  the  Holy  City  down  to  earth, 
And  bids  its  citizens  to  know  their  worth 
As  sons  of  God;  she  summons  them  to  raise 
On  fair  foundations  walls  of  chrysoprase 
And  jasper,  sapphire,  beryl,  chrysolite  — 
All   stones   of  price,   all  precious  in   God's 

sight  — 
On  purity  and  truth  and  honor  bright, 


60  URBSBEATA 

Temples  and  towers  and  courts  and  halls  of 

light 
And  homes  of  purity,  and  mills  and  marts 
And  shops  of  industry  and  shrines  of  arts  — 
To  build  all  these,  in  days  now  drawing  nigh 
After  the  pattern  shown  us  in  the  sky." 

Such  is  the  message  that  today  is  brought 
From   that  which   answers  to   our   deepest 

thought; 
Such  are  the  tasks  that  wait  upon  our  will 
In  days  which  mercies  past  with  promise 

fill. 
To  build  a  city  here  of  fair  renown 
After  the  pattern  that  the  heaven  sends  down; 
A  city  founded  on  this  simple  plan  — 
Friendship  for  God,  and  friendship,  too,  for 

man, 
God's  friendship!    'Tis  the  sure  foundation 

stone 
On  which  its  life  must  rest:  the  faith  alone 
That  makes  men  faithful,  the  firm  tie  that 

binds 
Man  to  his  highest  fealties;  clouded  minds 
It   clears,    crowns   trust   and   truth,    makes 

honor  dear; 
Kindles  high  courage,  quells  ignoble  fear, 


IRBS      BEATA  61 

Sends  cringing  craft  to  heel,  gives  love  the 

rein, 
And  holds  in  reason's  thrall  the  greed  for 

gain. 
Friendship  for  God  —  it  is  the  vital  breath 
That  cities  live  by,  yea  the  prophet  saith: 
"Except  God  build  the  city  it  shall  fall; 
Men  toil  in  vain  upon  its  crumbling  wall." 
A  godless  city  —  what  shall  be  her  fate? 
Hear  what  the  Lord  hath  spoken:  "Desolate 
Shall  be  her  courts,  and  bitter  her  complaints, 
For  the  whole  head  is  sick,  the  whole  heart 

faints; 
How    is    the    faithful    queen,    by    treachery 

stained, 
Become    an     harlot;      and,     where    justice 

reigned, 
Red  murder  riots:   rulers,  while  men  sleep, 
Trample  on  laws  that  they  have  sworn  to 

keep; 
Thieves  their  companions,  bribers   their   al- 
lies, 
Heedless  of  justice,  deaf  to  all  the  cries 
Of  fatherless  and  widows." 

Such  the  scourge 
Of  godless  cities,  such  the  fateful  dirge 


62  URBSBEATA 

That  prophets  sing  when  cities  turn  from  God 
And  recklessly  defy  his  chastening  rod. 

0  you  whom  God  hath  called  and  set  apart 
To  build  a  city  after  his  own  heart, 
Remember  well,  your  peace  is  in  his  hands, 
Your  welfare  waits  on  his  benign  commands. 
His  friendship  seek,  his  word  of  life  obey 
And  trust  his  grace  to  guide  you  all  the  way. 
"Be  friends  with  God,"  this  is  the  golden 

text 
That  gives  us  queenly  cities ;  and  the  next  — 
"Be  friends  with  men,"  this  crowns  the  city 

fair 
And  makes  it  beautiful  beyond  compare. 

0  you  whom  God  hath  called  and  set  apart 
To  build  a  city  after  his  own  heart, 
Be  this  your  task  —  to  fill  the  cities'  veins 
With  the  red  blood  of  friendship;   plant  her 

plains 
With    seeds    of   peace;     above   her   portals 

wreathe 
Greeting  and  welcome;  let  the  air  we  breathe 
Be  musical  with  accents  of  good  will 
That  leap  from  lip  to  lip  with  joyous  thrill; 
So  may  the  stranger  find  upon  the  streets 


URBSBEATA  63 

A  kindly  look  in  every  face  he  meets: 
So  may  the  spirit  of  the  city  tell 
All  souls  within  her  gates  that  all  is  well; 
In  all  her  homes  let  gentleness  be  found, 
In  every  neighborhood  let  grace  abound, 
In  every  store  and  shop  and  forge  and  mill 
Where  men  of  toil  their  daily  tasks  fulfil, 
Where   guiding   brain   and  workman's   skill 

are  wise 
To  shape  the  product  of  our  industries, 
Where   treasured   stores    the   hands    of   toil 

sustain, 
Let  friendship  speed  the  work  and  share  the 

gain. 
And  thus,  through  all  the  city's  teeming  life, 
Let  helpfulness   have  room,   with  generous 

strife 
To  serve;  let  those  who  sit  at  Beauty's  feet 
Rejoice  to  make  this  world  of  ours  more  meet 
For  men  to  live  in;  let  the  poet's  art 
Kindle  new  kindness  in  the  human  heart; 
Let  every  hand  find  work  to  swell  the  store 
Of  common  welfare,  and  let  all  hearts  pour 
Their  offering  of  service,  till  the  best 
That  each  can  bring  is  shared  by  all  the  rest; 
Proving  the  Master's  saying  that  we  live 
By  what  we  get,  but  more  by  what  we  give. 


64  URBSBEATA 

And  thus,  0  city  fair,  your  life  shall  be 

Benignant,  bountiful,  abundant,  free; 

For  God  shall  dwell  among  us,  and  men  shall 

say 
The  former  bitter  things  are  passed  away; 
Gone  are  our  strifes  and  banished  all  our 

fears, 
For  here  is  love  that  wipes  away  all  tears; 
Here  is  the  rest  for  which  our  souls  have 

striven; 
This  is  the  city  that  came  down  from  heaven. 


THE  ORATORY 


THE   DISCIPLE 


O 


MASTER,  let  me  walk  with  Thee 
In  lowly  paths  of  service  free; 
Tell  me  Thy  secret,  help  me  bear 
The  strain  of  toil,  the  fret  of  care; 
Help  me  the  slow  of  heart  to  move 
By  some  clear  winning  word  of  love; 
Teach  me  the  wayward  feet  to  stay, 
And  guide  them  in  the  homeward  way. 

0  Master,  let  me  walk  with  Thee 
Before  the  taunting  Pharisee; 
Help  me  to  bear  the  sting  of  spite, 
The  hate  of  men  who  hide  Thy  light, 
The  sore  distrust  of  souls  sincere 
Who  cannot  read  Thy  judgments  clear, 
The  dulness  of  the  multitude 
Who  dimly  guess  that  Thou  art  good. 

Teach  me  Thy  patience;  still  with  Thee 
In  closer,  dearer  company, 
In  work  that  keeps  faith  sweet  and  strong, 
67 


68  THE     DISCIPLE 

In  trust  that  triumphs  over  wrong, 
In  hope  that  sends  a  shining  ray 
Far  down  the  Future's  broadening  way, 
In  peace  that  only  Thou  canst  give, 
With  Thee,  0  Master,  let  me  live! 


THE   BELIEVER 


J— /ORD,  I  believe  in  Thee, 

In  want,  in  pain,  in  grief; 
I  trust  Thee  where  I  cannot  see, 

Help  Thou  my  unbelief! 

Thy  law  is  in  my  heart, 

With  that  I  follow  Thee; 
If  sin  still  rule  the  worser  part, 

Be  merciful  to  me! 

I  trust  my  brother,  too; 

In  him,  though  lost,  I  find 
Some  spark  Thy  breath  may  yet  renew, 

For  Thou  to  him  art  kind. 

All  that  are  Thine  are  mine, 
To  save  men  Thou  didst  come; 

Live  in  my  life,  0  Love  divine, 
Then  I,  too,  may  save  some. 


69 


THE   MOURNER 


O 


MOURNER,     making     thy     piteous 
moan,  — 
"What  shall  I  do?     How  can  I  go 
Down  through  the  desolate  days  alone?"  — 
Wait!  for  the  righteous  light  is  sown: 
Wait,  and  the  dawn  shall  grow. 

One  by  one  come  the  desolate  days; 

It  is  only  today  that  toucheth  thee. 
Look    straight    before    thee!  some    guiding 

rays 
Shine  now  on  my  path.     Go  on  with  praise 

In  the  light  that  thou  canst  see. 


70 


THE   DOUBTER 


rORGIVE,     0     Lord,     the     doubts    that 
break 

Thy  promises  to  me; 
Forgive  me  that  I  fail  to  take 

Thy  pardon  full  and  free. 

"I  will  have  mercy,"  Thou  hast  said; 

"My  ways  are  not  your  ways"; 
Yet  from  Thy  presence  I  have  fled, 

I  dared  not  trust  Thy  grace. 

I  sought  to  put  my  sins  away, 

I  strove  to  do  Thy  will; 
And  yet,  whene'er  I  tried  to  pray 

My  heart  was  doubting  still. 

I  thought  that  Thou  with  jealous  eye 

Wast  watching  me  alway, 
My  deeds  to  mark,  my  steps  to  spy 

Whene'er  I  went  astray. 
71 


72  THE     DOUBTER 

I  hoped  that  when,  by  days  and  years 

Of  service  and  of  prayer, 
I  had  besought  Thy  grace  with  tears, 

Thy  mercy  I  might  share. 

Forgive,  0  Father,  this  my  sin, 
This  jealous,  doubting  heart; 

For  when  men  seek  Thy  love  to  win, 
And  choose  the  better  part, 

I  know  that,  swifter  than  the  light 
Leaps  earthward  from  the  sun, 

Thy  pardoning  love,  Thy  rescuing  might 
Speed  down  to  every  one. 


A   LITTLE    WHILE 


W 


HAT  is  this  that  He  saith? 
"It  is  but  a  little  while," 
And  trouble  and  pain  and  death 
Shall  vanish  before  His  smile. 

"A  little  while,"  and  the  load 
Shall  drop  at  the  pilgrim's  feet, 

Where  the  steep  and  thorny  road 
Doth  merge  in  the  golden  street. 

But  what  is  this  that  He  saith? 

"A  little  while,"  and  the  day 
Of  the  servant  that  laboreth 

Shall  be  done  forever  and  aye. 

0  the  truth  that  is  yet  untold! 

0  the  songs  that  are  yet  unsung! 
0  the  sufferings  manifold, 

And  the  sorrows  that  have  no  tongue! 

0  the  helpless  hands  held  out, 
And  the  wayward  feet  that  stray 
73 


74  A     LITTLE    WHILE 

In  the  desolate  paths  of  doubt, 
And  the  sinner's  downward  way! 

For  a  silence  soon  will  fall 

On  the  lips  that  burn  for  speech, 

And  the  needy  and  poor  that  call 
Will  forever  be  out  of  reach. 

"For  the  work  that  ye  must  do 
Before  the  coming  of  death 

There  remaineth,  0  faithful  few, 
But  a  little  while,"  He  saith. 


THE   WAY 

"  How,  0  Lord,  shall  we  follow  Thee?" 

I  heard  one  sadly  say; 
"Whither  Thou  goest  we  cannot  see; 

How  can  we  know  the  way?" 

"I  am  the  way,"  the  Shepherd  said; 

"He  that  dwelleth  in  love 
Dwelleth  in  me,  and  shall  be  led 

Safe  to  the  fold  above." 


75 


MY    SABBATH 

-L/IKE  the  child  weary,  yet  for  frolic  eager, 
Held  still  at  nightfall,  on  his  mother's 
breast, 

Me,  in  the  silence,  gracious  arms  beleaguer; 
Sweet,  in  their  loving  fold,  I  find  my  rest. 

The  noises  of  the  blatant  world  are  quiet; 

Care's  hungry  pack  have  howled  them- 
selves to  flight; 
No  news  of  plague  or  wreck  or  war  or  riot 

Comes  to  disturb  my  day  of  dear  delight. 

The  toilful  days  of  fever  all  are  ended, 
And   days   more   distant   still   of  feverish 
toil; 
And   painless   rest   and   moveless   trust   are 
blended 
In  a  pure  peace  no  trouble  can  assoil. 

The  deep,  calm  sky  bends  down  with  voice- 
less blessing, 

76 


MY     SABBATH  77 

The  earth  sleeps  well  beneath  the  winter 
snow, 
And  wandering  winds,  that  meet  with  mute 
caressing, 
Are  shod  with  stillness  as  they  come  and  go. 

In  heaven,  'tis  said,  was  once  a  half-hour's 
silence; 
But   mine   this   respite   for   a   whole   day 
long, 
Save,  w7hen,  from  voices  on  the  far-off  high- 
lands 
Steals  to  my  ear  a  breath  of  holy  song. 

"Rest  and  be  thankful!"  with  a  heart  o'er- 
ilowing, 
I  take  the  sweet  refreshment  Thou  dost 
send. 
And    may    this    peace,    to    fuller    measures 
growing, 
With  work  and  care  henceforth  divinely 
blend! 


HYMN 

For  the  Dedication  of  the  Mark  Hopkins 
Memorial  Hall 


o 


LOVE  divine,  all  life  is  Thine, 
Thy  changeless  bounty  crowns  our  years, 
Thy  fadeless  splendors  round  us  shine, 
Thy  hand  upholds  the  rolling  spheres. 

Thy  gifts,  0  God,  are  large  and  free, 
Yet,  best  of  all  Thy  love  bestows, 

The  souls  wherein  Thy  light  we  see, 
The  lips  whereon  Thy  message  glows. 

Apostles,  prophets,  teachers  stand 

To  show  Thy  way,  to  speak  Thy  thought; 

Yea,  Lord,  the  man  of  Thy  right  hand 
To  us  the  word  of  life  has  brought. 

For  him  this  day  Thy  name  we  praise, 
All  thoughts  of  him  mount  up  to  Thee; 

And  while  in  love  these  walls  we  raise, 
Each  memory  linked  with  prayer  shall  be. 
78 


H  Y  M  N  70 

Here  may  the  truth  he  loved  to  teach 

With  ever-living  luster  grow, 
Here  may  the  heights  he  strove  to  reach 

Still  shine  and  beacon  men  below. 

Here  be  the  soul  with  ardor  stirred, 
And  life  with  love's  immortal  leaven, 

Here  let  the  reconciling  word 

Link  man  to  God,  lift  earth  to  heaven! 


HYMN 
For  the  Centennial  of  Williams  College 


il  ERE,  neath  the  soft  October  sky, 
A  century  gone,  the  scholars  stood, 

And  praised  the  Power  who  dwells  on  high, 
The  Source  of  light,  the  Fount  of  good. 

The  flaming  mountains  heard  their  praise, 
The  winding  river  hushed  its  mirth, 

And  through  the  dreamy  depths  of  haze 
The  heavens  stooped  down  and  touched 
the  earth. 

A  hundred  years  their  gifts  have  brought 
To  crown  the  work  that  day  begun, 

And  flames  from  off  this  altar  caught 
Light  every  land  beneath  the  sun. 

0  flaming  mountains,  guard  us  still! 
0  skies  of  autumn,  softly  bend 
80 


H  V  M  N  81 

And  whisper  of  the  loving  will 

Of  God,  our  Father  and  our  Friend! 

0  Lord  of  life  and  light  and  love, 

The  years  to  come  are  safe  with  Thee; 

Clothe  us  with  wisdom  from  above, 

And  make  us  brave  and  strong  and  free! 


HYMN 

For  the  Dedication  of  the  John  Robinson 
Church,  Gainsborough,  England,  1897 


B 


'EHOLD  a  Sower!  from  afar 

He  goeth  forth  with  might; 
The  rolling  years  his  furrows  are, 

His  seed  the  growing  light; 
For  all  the  just  his  word  is  sown, 

It  springeth  up  alway; 
The  tender  blade  is  hope's  young  dawn, 

The  harvest,  love's  new  day. 

0  Lord  of  life,  to  Thee  we  lift 

Our  hearts  in  praise  for  those, 
Thy  prophets,  who  have  shown  Thy  gift 

Of  grace  that  ever  grows; 
Of  truth  that  spreads  from  shore  to  shore, 

Of  wisdom's  widening  ray, 
Of  light  that  shineth,  more  and  more, 

Unto  Thy  perfect  day. 

Shine  forth,  0  Light,  that  we  may  see 
With  hearts  all  unafraid, 
82 


ii  v  m  n  S3 

The  meaning  and  the  mystery 
Of  things  that  Thou  hast  made; 

Shine  forth,  and  let  the  darkling  past 
Beneath  Thy  beam  grow  bright! 

Shine  forth,  and  touch  the  future  vast 
With  Thine  unclouded  light. 

Light  up  Thy  Word,  the  fettered  page 

From  killing  bondage  free; 
Light  up  our  way;  lead  forth  this  age 

In  love's  large  liberty. 
0  Light  of  light,  within  us  dwell, 

Through  us  Thy  radiance  pour, 
That  word  and  life  Thy  truth  may  tell 

And  praise  Thee  evermore. 


HYMN 

For  the  Columbus  School  for  Girls 

Tune,  Pastor  Bonus 


o 


UR  morning  song  of  praise 
With  thankful  hearts  we  raise, 

For  life  and  youth,  for  love  and  truth, 
For  work  that  fills  our  days; 
For  grace  and  help  we  pray, 
That  all  our  tasks  this  day 

In  hope  begun,  in  patience  done, 
May  light  us  on  our  way. 

The  trees  above  us  bend, 

The  skies  their  brightness  lend, 
All  things  that  live  their  blessing  give, 

And  with  our  labor  blend; 

So,  with  a  loving  will 

Let  each  her  part  fulfil, 
Her  honor  keep,  her  harvest  reap 

Of  truth  and  strength  and  skill. 

Through  all  the  happy  time 
Of  girlhood's  golden  prime, 
84 


HYMN  85 

To  strength  and  good  of  womanhood 

Our  ready  feet  shall  climb; 

And  still  our  song  of  praise, 

With  thankful  hearts  we  raise 
For  life  and  youth,  for  love  and  truth, 

For  joy  that  crowns  our  days. 


IMMANUEL 

Unto  us  a  Child  is  born;  unto  us  a  Son  is  given." 


U: 


NDER  its  burden  of  sin  and  pain 

The  whole  creation  groans, 
Lifting  its  hopeless  prayers  in  vain 

To  the  altars  and  the  thrones. 
Long  and  weary  has  been  the  night 

Of  sorrow  and  want  and  woe; 
Long  have  the  watchers  strained  their  sight 

To  catch  the  morning  glow; 
But  the  world  rolls  on  in  its  darkling  track 
And  the  cry  "How  long!"   comes  echoing 
back 

To  the  suffering  souls  below. 
Thus  the  creation  waiteth  long, 

In  orphanage  and  in  tears, 
For  the  signs  of  his  coming  to  whom  belong 

The  everlasting  years. 

"Where  is  thy  God,  0  prophet;  where 

Is  the  Lord  of  life  and  light? 
We  lift  to  his  throne  our  words  of  prayer, 
86 


IMMANUEL  87 

Wc  wait  for  his  arm  of  might; 
Yet  the  earth  is  dark  and  life  is  lone, 

And  trouble  and  pain  are  here; 
Will  he  never  hearken  upon  his  throne? 

Will  the  Helper  never  appear? 
What  know  we  yet,  0  prophet,  of  him 

Whose  name  we  have  heard  thee  speak? 
There  is  nought  for  us  but  a  vision  dim 

Of  the  God  whose  face  we  seek; 
He  dwells  in  the  high  and  holy  place; 

He  rides  on  the  tempest's  crest; 
The  worlds  that  roll  through  the  depths  of 
space 

Obey  his  mighty  behest; 
The  viewless  winds  are  his  ministers, 

From  his  hand  are  the  lightnings  sped, 
The  shock  that  earth  to  its  center  stirs 

Is  only  his  footfall  dread; 
His  power  we  see,  his  wrath  we  fear, 

At  his  word  our  pulses  start, 
But  who  can  read  us  his  counsels  clear, 

And  who  can  show  us  his  heart? 
All  round  the  world  the  altars  smoke, 

And  the  costly  victim  bleeds, 
And  offerings  rich  his  help  invoke, 

And  prayer  for  his  mercy  pleads; 
Does  he  heed  our  praise?  does  he  hear  our  cry? 


88  IMMANUEL 

Does  he  wait  his  grace  to  show? 
Does  he  bend  to  earth  from  his  throne  on 
high? 

We  trust,  but  we  may  not  know; 
For  the  earth  is  full  of  sorrow  and  sin, 

Of  weariness,  want  and  pain; 
There  are  fightings  without  and  fears  within, 
There  is  shame  where  innocence  once  has 

been, 
"And  guilt  with  its  crimson  stain; 
And  greed  and  pride  and  tyranny  rule, 

And  the  cruel  devour  the  kind, 
While  the  meek  is  scorned  for  a  witless  fool, 

And  the  blind  is  led  by  the  blind. 
Is  God  in  heaven?     Why  tarrieth  he? 

Why  cometh  he  not  with  power 
To  smite  the  scorner,  the  slave  to  free, 
The  friend  of  the  friendless  poor  to  be, 

To  give  to  the  meek  their  dower? 
Why  cometh  he  not  when  orphans  cry, 

And  widows  make  their  moan? 
Why  cometh  he  not  to  souls  that  sigh 

For  sins  they  can  never  atone? 
Why  cometh  he  not  with  comfort  sweet 

To  the  mourner  walking  in  tears, 
To  guide  and  steady  the  halting  feet, 
And  strengthen  the  fainting  heart  to  meet 


IMMANUEL  89 

The  inevitable  years? 
Is  God  in  heaven?     On  earth  is  Death; 

Here  reigns  he  monarch  of  all; 
He  smites  the  earth  with  his  icy  breath, 

On  the  sky  he  hangeth  his  pall; 
In  his  swaths  the  generations  lie, 

For  none  can  parry  his  stroke; 
Man  that  is  born  of  woman  must  die, 

Heavy  this  tyrant's  yoke; 
Here  in  our  broken  homes  we  mourn, 

Empty  our  hearts  and  barms; 
Babes  from  the  mother's  breast  are  torn, 

Brides  from  the  bridegroom's  arms; 
And  the  mourners  go  about  the  streets 

And  look,  and  listen,  and  wait 
For  sounds  that  the  silence  never  repeats, 
For  faces  the  sunshine  never  greets, 

Till,  heavy  and  desolate, 
They  fall  by  the  way  and  from  sight  are 
swept 

By  the  pitiless  power  of  Death, 
And  they  who  were  weepers  themselves  are 

wept ; 
Thus  runneth  the  rede;  thus  the  tale  is  kept 

For  children  of  mortal  breath. 
And  whither,   oh  whither?     From   out  our 
sight 


90  I  M  MANUEL 

Our  best  beloved  have  gone; 
Is  the  word  'forever'?     To  Death's  dread 
night 

Comes  never  the  break  of  dawn? 
Are  the  hands  death  parted  never  more 

To  be  clasped  in  friendship  sweet? 
Is  Death  an  ocean  without  a  shore? 
0  prophet  speak!     We  beseech,  implore; 

What  tidings?     Shall  we  meet 
In  lands  more  fair,  when  from   Life's  dull 
dream 

We  wake  to  eternal  youth? 
0  prophet,  we  wait  by  the  sliding  stream 

Of  Time  for  the  word  of  truth. 
Thou  answerest  faintly;  thou  hast  no  word 

Whereon  our  hearts  may  lean; 
Thou  speakest  only  what  thou  hast  heard, 

And  not  what  thine  eyes  have  seen; 
It  is  not  enough;  our  hearts  will  cry 

For  a  more  sure  word  than  thine; 
For  a  voice  that  sounds  from  the  throne  on 
high, 

For  a  message  all  divine. 
Is  God  in  heaven?     0  that  his  heaven 

Were  not  from  earth  so  far! 
0  that  some  ray  of  his  glory  given 

Might  shine  as  a  morning  star 


I  II  M  A  N  V  E  L  91 

In  the  sky  above  us!     Some  tender  gleam 

Of  its  holy  light  appear 
To  scatter  our  night  with  its  healing  beam, 

Our  desolate  souls  to  cheer." 

Thus  the  world  through  the  generations  old, 

Groaneth  and  travaileth  here, 
Waiting  the  hour  so  long  foretold 

When  the  Dayspring  shall  appear; 
When  the  sons  of  men  shall  be  manifest 
As  the  sons  of  God,  and  the  heart  shall  rest 

From  trouble  and  doubt  and  fear. 
Wearily  waiteth,  but  not  in  vain; 

Lo,  to  anointed  eyes 
Breaketh  the  light  over  Bethlehem's  plain, 

Far  in  the  eastern  skies! 
Bendeth  now  in  a  sweet  embrace 

Heaven  to  the  fainting  earth; 
Dawneth  the  light  in  a  mother's  face, 
The  light  that  shines  from  the  heavenly  place, 
When  the  Prince  of  Life  and  the  Lord  of 
grace, 

Immanuel,  comes  to  birth. 

Born  from  above,  this  child  comes  down 

To  the  lowliest  human  ways; 
Bare  is  the  brow  that  hath  worn  a  crown; 

Emptied  of  power  and  praise, 


92 


IM MANUEL 


He  walks  in  the  paths  of  toil  and  care, 

On  pallets  of  straw  he  sleeps, 
In  the  sorrows  of  earth  he  finds  his  share, 

He  hungers  and  thirsts  and  weeps; 
Never  a  pang  our  hearts  have  torn 

That  doth  not  rend  his  heart; 
Never  a  grief  our  souls  have  borne 

But  he  must  feel  its  smart; 
From  his  hand  he  putteth  away  the  power, 

From  his  vision  the  heavenly  ray, 
He  knoweth  not  the  day  nor  the  hour, 

He  trusteth  in  God  alway; 
Meek  and  lowly  of  heart  is  he, 

Yet  forth  from  his  life  there  flow 
Healing  and  cheer  and  comfort  free 

For  every  child  of  woe; 
His  touch  brings  life,  his  presence  peace; 

His  word  is  a  word  of  might 
That  gives  to  the  fettered  tongue  release, 

To  the  darkened  eye  the  light. 
Down  to  our  death  he  stoops  and  brings 

The  life  of  the  heaven  above, 
Lord  of  glory  and  king  of  kings 

And  his  royalty  is  love. 


"Here,  0  prophet,  is  life  and  light! 
Here  is  the  message  sure! 


IMMANUEL  93 

Beams  from  this  face  the  glory  bright 
Of  the  city  where  never  cometh  night, 

Of  the  kingdom  of  the  pure. 
Heaven  no  longer  is  strange  and  far, 

Heaven  to  the  earth  draws  near; 
Dawns  on  the  world  that  morning  star 

Our  desolate  hearts  to  cheer. 
God  is  no  longer  a  vision  dim, 

For  we  have  learned  his  name  — 
Our  Father;  and  we  draw  nigh  to  Him 

From  whom  Immanuel  came; 
Nay,  in  Immanuel' s  smile  we  see 

The  brightness  of  His  face, 
With  sweet  compassion  and  mercy  free 

And  gentleness  and  grace. 
Trouble  is  here,  and  suffering  still 

Its  shadow  over  us  throws; 
Secure  we  rest  in  the  blessed  Will  — 

Our  heavenly  Father  knows. 
Ancient  Tyranny  keeps  his  throne 

And  the  poor  are  still  a  prey; 
But  light  for  the  righteous  now  is  sown, 
And  the  tares  may  wait  till    the  wheat  is 
grown, 

Till  God's  great  judgment  day. 
And  Death,  0  Death,  old  monarch  of  all, 

Who  feareth  thy  fiercest  frown? 


94  IMMANUEL 

Behold  the  writing  upon  the  wall! 

Gone  is  thy  scepter  and  crown; 
For  the  Prince  of  Life  hath  snatched  from 
thee 

Thy  power,  0  vanquished  king, 
Crying,  'Where,  0  Death,  is  thy  victory? 

0  grave,  where  is  thy  sting?" 

Thus  to  the  world  that  travailed  long 

Under  its  sorrow  and  pain, 
There  is  spoken  the  word  of  promise  strong, 
There  is  chanted  the  happy  Christmas  song, 

Again  and  ever  again; 
To  us,  0  mortals,  a  Child  is  born! 

To  us  a  Son  is  given, 
Light  of  light,  and  star  of  the  morn, 

Heir  of  the  highest  heaven ! 
Swifter  than  morning  ray  e'er  ran 

Let  the  new  glad  tidings  run 
That  the  Son  of  God  is  the  Son  of  man, 

And  heaven  and  earth  are  one. 


MOMENTA  MARTIS 


NOVEMBER,    1860 


STEADY  there! 
Strip  the  bending  topmast  bare! 
Wear  the  ship !  the  breakers  stare 
Through  the  grinning  jaws  of  foam. 
Pipe  them  down  —  the  crazy  crew! 
Give  us  sober  men  and  true; 
Let  the  ship  be  manned  anew! 
Quick!  we  felt  the  shock  of  doom! 

Pipe  them  down! 
Shall  the  ship  of  old  renown 
Sink  because  we  fear  their  frown? 
Shall  her  precious  freight  be  lost? 
They  have  turned  her  from  her  track, 
They  are  sailing  swiftly  back 
Through  the  dim  and  blinding  wrack, 
Toward  the  dangers  we  had  crossed. 

Now  she  rights! 

Hoist  the  canvas!  trim  the  lights! 
She  has  lived  through  darker  nights, 
97 


98  NOVEMBER,     1860 

She  was  built  in  stormy  seas; 
None  but  shipmen  brave  could  launch  her, 
But  she  rode  the  waves  in  grandeur 
And  the  years  have  made  her  stauncher, 
Ha!  she  laughs  at  gales  like  these! 

Ready  about! 

Bring  the  broken  compass  out! 
Find  the  chart,  0  pilot  stout 
That  the  Fathers  made  for  thee; 
There  is  Freedom's  morning  star 
Beaconing  through  the  clouds  afar,  — 
That's  the  headland,  —  see,  the  scar! 
There's  the  port  of  Liberty. 


APRIL,    1861 


M 


EN  of  the  North,  are  you  ready? 

The  war  cry  is  ringing! 
Now  with  firm  step  and  steady, 

Round  the  old  banner  clinging, 
With  the  blessings  of  mothers 

On  your  hearts  softly  lying, 
And  the  blood  of  your  brothers, 

From  the  ground  sternly  crying, 
With  the  stars  shining  o'er  you 

To  tell  you  God  will  guard  you, 
And  the  Ages  before  you 

Whose  guerdon  shall  reward  you,  — 
Go  forth,  where  the  flashing 

Of  the  war-cloud  is  keenest, 
Where  the  leaden  hail  is  dashing 

Down  the  noblest  and  the  meanest,  - 
Strike  home!  now's  the  hour! 

Strike,  landsmen  and  seamen! 
Let  the  foe  feel  the  power 

Of  the  stout  arms  of  freemen! 
99 


100  A  P  R  I  L  ,     1  8  6  1 

Men  of  the  North,  are  you  ready? 

The  traitors  are  mustering: 
Now  with  firm  step  and  steady 

Round  the  old  banner  clustering, 
Let  the  braves  that  are  bending 

From  the  blue  heavens  o'er  us, 
Hear  your  voices  ascending 

In  a  solemn  swelling  chorus, 
Pledging  life,  pledging  all 

To  the  land  in  her  trial, 
Till  the  last  drop  shall  fall 

From  Rebellion's  last  vial. 
Leave  the  shop !  leave  the  field ! 

Leave  the  nuptial  torches  burning! 
Leave  the  client's  suit  appealed! 

Leave  the  ancient  halls  of  learning! 
Come  away!  come  away! 

Every  man  shall  call  his  brother; 
Let  the  dead  croakers  stay! 

They  can  bury  one  another. 

Rally!     Honor  is  calling; 

Rally!     Truth  is  interceding; 
Rally!  Freedom  is  falling; 

Rally!  Fatherland  is  bleeding; 
Bloom  with  flags,  ye  roofs  and  towers ! 

Blaze  ye  hills,  with  signal  fires! 


APRIL,     1  86  1  101 

Bells,  that  strike  the  lonely  hours, 

Clang  alarums  from  your  spires! 
Let  the  bugle's  fierce  cry 

Start  the  eagle  from  his  aerie; 
Bid  the  lightnings  as  they  fly 

Flash  the  news  o'er  peak  and  prairie; 
Call  the  troops  from  the  plains! 

Mount  the  cannon  dumb  and  dusty! 
Loose  the  fleets  from  their  chains! 

Rouse  the  tars,  true  and  trusty! 
Down  from  every  mountain  crest, 

Up  from  every  smiling  valley 
For  the  land  you  love  the  best 

Freemen,  rally!  rally!  rally! 


MAY,    1863 


M 


EN,  for  today's  stern  toil  and  battle! 
Knights  were  well  in  the  feudal  days; 
Kings,   when  the   people  were   dumb,   like 
cattle ; 
Priests,  when  a  lie  was  a  means  of  grace; 
Dancing  masters,  when  morals  were  manners; 
Schemers  in  ink  when  the  sword  was  a  pen; 
But  now,  when  God  lifts  up  his  banners 
And  war  clangs  fierce,  send  us  men!  send 
us  men! 

0  contemptible  tailor's  dummy, 

Dupe  and  noodle  and  snob  and  quack, 
Stale  old  fossil  and  breathing  mummy, 

Politician  and  party-hack, 
Fool  of  fashion  and  tool  of  barter 

Living  to  cheat  and  be  cheated  again, 
Drawler  of  cant  and  counterfeit  martyr,  — 

Out  and  begone  with  you!    send  us  some 
men! 

Send  us  men  for  the  public  stations, 

Leal  and  honest  and  brave  and  wise, 
Thoughtful    beyond    their    pay    and    their 
rations, 

102 


M  ay,    1863  103 

Parleying  never  with  traitors  and  spies; 
Men  whose  works  and  promises  tally, 

Men  who  build  upon  principles  grand, 
Learning  of  Christ,  not  of  Machiavelli, 

What  to  enact,  and  how  to  command. 

Send  us  men  for  the  desk  and  the  altar, 

Fearless  of  councils  and  bishops  and  bans, 
Never  with  righteousness  daring  to  palter, 

Orthodox  rather  in  God's  sight  than  man's; 
Men  who  refuse  all  clerical  mastership. 
Being  man's  servants,  and    God's  honest 
freemen, 
Knowing  that  lordship  agrees  not  with  pas- 
torship, 
Men   whose  first  study  is   always  to   be 
men. 

Send  us  men  for  the  private  places, 

Tradesmen   and  craftsmen  and   tillers   of 
sod, 
Men  with  sympathies  large  as  the  race  is, 

Loyal  to  Fatherland,  Freedom,  and  God; 
Loyal  in  spite  of  high  taxes  and  prices; 

Lavishing  life,  kindred,  fortune,  all  these, 
Rather  than  sell,  in  humanity's  crisis, 

Liberty's  birthright  for  pottage  of  peace. 


APRIL   THE   NINTH,    1865 


B 


►ELLS,  bells,  peal  from  your  towers 

Maddest  and  merriest  noises! 
Organ  and  trumpet,  burden  the  hours 

With  your  victorious  voices! 
Break,  0  Land,  into  blossoms  and  songs! 
Gather,  ye  people,  in  jubilant  throngs, 
Praising  His  name  to  whom  glory  belongs; 

Liberty  lives  and  rejoices! 

Glory  to  God!  glory  to  God! 

He  hath  with  victory  crowned  us; 
Sore  was  his  chastening,  yet  hath  his  rod 

Broken  the  shackles  that  bound  us; 
Lift  up  thy  head,  0  land  of  the  free! 
Humbled  and  smitten,  no  more  shalt  thou  be; 
Nations  shall  join  in  the  glad  jubilee 

Ringing  in  melody  round  us. 

Spirit  of  Earth,  now  hovering  near, 

Stoop  thy  bright  wings  as  thou  fliest, 
Then  to  the  peoples  in  bondage  and  fear 
104 


APRIL  THE  NINTH,   1865   105 

Speed  thee,  nor  rest  while  thou  criest: 
11 Tidings!  ye  millions  in  manacles  led; 
Liberty  cometh  with  jubilant  tread! 
Liberty!     Freedom!     Tyranny's  dead! 

Glory  to  God  in  the  highest!" 


APRIL   THE   FOURTEENTH,    1865 

ToLL! 

Slowly  toll,  funeral  bell! 

Let  your  solemn  pulses  tell 

That  the  white  robes  of  the  angel 

Chanting  peace  are  soiled  with  blood; 
That  Humanity's  evangel 

Was  a  curse  misunderstood; 
Toll!  the  staff  of  strength  is  broken 

That  the  people  leaned  upon; 
Toll!  the  grief  that  hath  no  token, 

For  our  kingliest  man  is  gone. 
Toll!  toll! 

Weep! 

Let  the  heavens  drop  tears  of  woe ! 
Darkness  shroud  the  land  below! 
Weep!  ye  millions  he  hath  guided; 

Weep!  all  ye  who  scorned  him  here; 
Let  the  land  so  long  divided 

Meet  in  sorrow  round  his  bier! 
Weep!  ye  hosts  whose  chains  are  falling; 
106 


APRIL    FOURTEENTH,     1865      107 

Palsied  lies  the  arm  that  broke  them; 
Words  of  life  ye  heard  him  calling, 

Silent  are  the  lips  that  spoke  them  I 
Weep!  weep! 

Rest! 

He  is  resting  in  his  grave 
Where  the  prairie  grasses  wave; 
Rest!  our  fathers'  God  ordaineth 

That  this  martyr's  blood  shall  be,     . 
Evermore  while  earth  remaineth 

Precious  seed  of  Liberty! 
Rest!  our  God  will  watch  the  sowing; 

Wait!  the  harvest  ripens  fast; 
All  the  golden  fruitage  growing 

Will  be  gathered  in  at  last, 
And  the  reapers  soon  be  going 
To  their  rest. 


A   MOTHER'S   STORY 
Decoration  Day 


H 


ERE  at  the  gate,  let  us  stand  and  wait 

Till  the  grand  procession  pass; 
The  marshal  first,  in  marvelous  state, 

With  the  drums  and  the  sounding  brass; 
Then  the  veterans  brave  in  blue  draw  near 

With  a  sober,  soldierly  air, 
And  the  halt  and  the  maimed  are  riding  here, 

And  the  priest  and  the  poet  there. 

And  now  the  troop  of  the  children  comes 

In  wavy,  hesitant  files, 
All  bright  with  the  blush  of  the  early  blooms, 

All  wreathed  in  roses  and  smiles. 
They  are  halting  now  at  the  graves  of  the 
boys, 

And  a  dirge  will  be  softly  sung, 
And  the  parson  will  give  to  faith  a  voice 

And  the  poet  to  love  a  tongue. 

But  you  and  I,  my  Harry  and  Bess, 
Will  turn  from  these  well-meant  words 
108 


a   mother's   story  109 

Apart,  through  the  woodland  silences, 
Alone  with  the  breezes  and  birds. 

Here  at  this  grave,  where  the  pine  boughs 
grieve, 
When  the  solemn  south  winds  roam, 

Our  rosemary  and  our  rue  we'll  leave 
And  carry  our  heart's-ease  home. 

Did  I  promise?     Well,  there  is  nothing  new, 

But  the  joy  and  the  pain  are  one. 
Sit  down  on  the  bank  here,  Bessy,  and  you 

Lie  there  on  the  grass,  my  son. 
Fourteen  next  month!     You  were  only  four 

When  your  father  went  away. 
And  you,  little  queen,  were  scarcely  more 

Than  a  babe  that  desolate  day. 

A  sudden  and  terrible  call  had  come 

For  an  army  of  volunteers, 
And  the  tidings  brought  to  our  happy  home 

Hard  struggles  and  boding  fears. 
That  night  he  sat  in  a  silent  mood 

And  held  you  both  to  his  breast; 
I  saw  on  his  brow  the  shadows  brood 

And  darken  —  I  knew  the  rest. 

He  carried  you  up  to  your  crib  that  night 
And  watched  with  you  till  you  slept. 


110  a  mother's   story 

Then  praying  that   God  would  guide  him 
aright, 

The  strong  man  wrestled  and  wept. 
I  found  him  praying  and  left  him  there, 

Alone  with  his  Father  and  you, 
Till  the  Helper  lifted  his  load  of  care 

And  lightened  his  spirit,  too. 

And  then  he  came  forth  and  told  me  all; 

I  could  neither  strive  nor  cry. 
He  would  follow  his  suffering  country's  call; 

Who  should  dare  to  forbid?     Not  I. 
You  know  the  story  —  the  parting  word  — 

The  year  that  drearily  passed, 
The  droning  pain  of  a  hope  deferred, 

The  blinding  blow  at  the  last. 

But  here  is  a  picture  you  never  saw; 

On  this  side  Mother  and  Bess, 
Hal  on  the  other  —  the  little  flaw 

Is  the  dint  of  a  ball,  I  guess. 
He  carried  it  always  here,  by  his  heart, 

And  when  they  led  him  away, 
Faint,  from  the  field  where  he  bore  his  part 

So  gallantly  on  that  day  — 

When  they  laid  him  down  in  a  sheltered  nook 
(The  Chaplain  told  me  this) 


a   mother's    story  111 

He  drew  it  forth,  and  with  many  a  look 

And  many  a  passionate  kiss, 
He  gazed  till  he  heard  the  order  "Rest!" 

And  then,  when  his  spirit  passed, 
It  dropped  from  his  hands  upon  his  breast 

And  they  found  it  there,  at  the  last. 

That  is  all,  my  darlings,  I  have  to  tell; 

Like  another  diviner  Friend, 
Having  loved  his  own  in  the  world  so  well 

He  loved  them  unto  the  end. 
The  love  that  he  left  to  you  and  me, 

Is  our  fortune  and  our  pride; 
The  truest,  manliest  man  was  he, 

And  he  loved  us  all  till  he  died. 

Come  hither,  Harry,  I'll  lean  on  you; 

His  brow  and  his  mouth  are  there! 
And  yours,  little  Bess,  are  his  eyes  of  blue 

And  his  wealth  of  golden  hair. 
So  here  at  his  grave,  where  the  pine  boughs 
grieve, 

When  the  solemn  south  winds  roam, 
Our  rosemary  and  our  rue  we'll  leave, 

And  carry  our  heart' s-ease  home. 


COLLEGE  DAYS 


THE   MOUNTAINS 

Williams  College  Song 

KJ  PROUDLY  rise  the  monarchs  of  our 

mountain  land, 

With  their  kingly  forest  robes,  to  the  sky, 

Where  Alma  Mater  dwelleth  with  her  chosen 

band, 

Where  the  peaceful  river  iloweth  gently  by. 

Chorus.     The    mountains!     the    mountains! 

we  greet  them  with  a  song, 
Whose    echoes,    rebounding,    the    woodland 

heights  along, 
Shall  mingle  with  anthems  that  winds  and 

fountains  sing, 
Till  hill  and  valley  gaily,  gaily  ring. 

The  snows   of  winter  crown  them  with   a 
crystal  crown, 
And  the  silver   clouds  of  summer  round 
them  cling, 

115 


116  THE    MOUNTAINS 

The  autumn's  scarlet  mantle  flows  in  rich- 
ness down, 
And  they  revel  in  the  garniture  of  spring. 

0  mightily  they  battle  with  the  storm  king's 

power, 
And  conquerors  shall  triumph  here  for  aye; 
But  quietly  their  shadows    fall  at  evening 

hour, 
While  the  gentle  breezes  round  them  softly 

play. 

Beneath   their   peaceful  shadows   may    Old 
Williams  stand, 
Till  suns  and  mountains  nevermore  shall 
be, 
The  glory  and  the  honor  of  our  mountain 
land, 
And  the  dwelling  of  the  gallant  and  the 
free. 


MORNING 

"The  watchman  saith,  'The  morning  cometh."' 
—  Isaiah,  xxi:  12 

U,    THE  dreary,  dreary  darkness;  how  it 
girds  the  stifled  land! 
How  it  falls  in  viewless  torrents  from  the 
frowning  midnight  skies! 
When    shall    Lucifer,    resplendent,    on    the 
eastern  mountains  stand? 
Will  the  morning  never  rise? 

Tell  me,  0  ye  bards  prophetic,  where  in  olden 
time  ye  stood, 
When  ye  saw  the  flying  shadows  and  the 
swift-approaching  day, 
Hailed  its  bannered  army  marching  like  a 
silver-rolling  flood 
Through  the  lands  where  darkness  lay. 

I  have  climbed  these  earthly  Babels,  many 
and  many  a  time,  to  look 
For  the  dawning  of  the  morning  in  the 
eastern  sky  afar; 

117 


118  MORNING 

But  I  saw  at  brightest,  only  in  some  dim, 
cloud-circled  nook, 
One  lone,  faintly  burning  star. 

Upward!    upward!    through    the    darkness, 
mount  on  Faith's  undrooping  wing, 
Till  the  dim  horizon  merges  in  Eternity's 
broad  sea! 
Till  the  eye  shall  catch  the  glory  which  the 
latter  day  shall  bring 
To  the  millions  yet  to  be. 

See  the  heavy,  blinding  shadows,  lying  sadly, 
like  a  pall, 
On  the  nations  that  have  never  felt  the 
gladness  of  the  light. 
And  they  love  their  weary  groping;   Father 
hear  us  when  we  call, 
Let  the  blind  receive  their  sight! 

0,  let  morning,  radiant  morning  come  with 
healing  in  its  breath, 
Filling  vale  and  crowning  mountain  with 
the  splendor  of  its  beams; 
Let  the  slumbering  millions  waken,  ere  they 
sleep  the  sleep  of  death, 
From  the  madness  of  their  dreams! 


MORNING  119 

Yonder!  see  the  cloudy  curtains  of  the  East 
are  rising  now, 
And  the  morning  twilight  glimmers,  and 
the  daylight  follows  fast, 
Floods  of  radiance  are  streaming  o'er  the 
mountain's  kindling  brow, 
Life  and  day  have  come  at  last! 

See    the    startled    nations    waking!     giants 
bursting  from  their  chains; 
Heroes,    girding    on    their    panoply    and 
hasting  to  the  field; 
Hear  a  million  voices  singing  on  a  thousand 
smiling  plains 
Of  the  glory  just  revealed. 

Walls    of    bigotry    are    crumbling,    castled 
ignorance  falls  down, 
Hirelings  of  the  old  oppressor  slink  away 
in  pale  affright, 
Despots  loose  the  iron  scepter,   and  clutch 
trembling  at  the  crown, 
Lest  it  fall  before  the  light. 

See    the    toils   of     superstition    swept   like 
gossamer  away; 
See  the  mists  of  error  vanishing  before  the 
morning  blasts; 


120  MORNING 

Troops  of  freeman,  bands  of  seekers,    hosts 
of  workers  in  array, 
Nations  of  iconoclasts! 

Ah,  how  many  hearts  have  waited  for  the 
glory  of  this  time! 
Beat  their  faintest,  last  pulsations  with  a 
yearning  for  the  dawn; 
Ah,  how  many  ears  have  harkened  for  this 
triumph  note  sublime, 
Till  both  faith  and  sense  were  gone. 

Sorrowing,  yet  rejoicing  ever,  hoping  for  the 
promised  gain, 
Struggling    toward    the    great    Hereafter 
with  the  earnestness  of  love, 
Passed  they  through  this  world  triumphant 
in  a  faith  that  reck'd  not  pain. 
To  a  grander  sight  above. 

Now,  from  minaret  and  pagoda  breaks  the 
song  of  jubilee, 
And  they  hear  it  there  in  heaven  with  a 
rapture  none  can  tell, 
And  the  chorus,  ringing,  ringing,  over  land 
and  over  sea, 
Chimes  with  songs  the  angels  swell. 


M  O  R  N  I  N  G  121 

In  that  city,  built  of  sapphire,  walled  with 
jasper,  paved  with  gold, 
Where  the  Tree  of  Life  is  growing  crowned 
with  heavenly  fruitage  fair, 
Kingdoms,  tribes  and  tongues  and  peoples 
shall  be  gathered  and  enrolled, 
"And  there  shall  be  no  night  there." 


BATTLE-SONG 


I 


N  the  rush  of  the  mountain  stream 

Is  a  flood  of  joy  for  me; 
And   the   clattering   hoof,    and   the   saber's 
gleam 

Make  my  heart  beat  martially. 
There  is  no  joy  in  calm, 

No  dreaming  time  for  the  soul, 
The  music  I  love  is  the  battle-psalm, 

And  I  rest  at  the  victor's  goal. 

I  laid  me  idly  down 

In  the  lap  of  a  drowsy  ease, 
And  dreamed  that  the  bane  of  life  had  flown 

Beyond  the  boundless  seas; 
But  I  woke  with  a  fevered  brain 

And  a  tempest  of  hot  desire, 
And  grasped  the  sword  of  the  real  again, 

And  pointed  it  with  fire. 

There's  a  rush  of  rhythmic  feet, 
And  a  glimmer  of  spears  afar, 
122 


BATTLE-SONG  123 

And  an  army  marches,  strong  and  fleet, 

To  the  glory  of  holy  war; 
There  is  victory  for  the  right, 

And  a  crown  for  the  conquering  brave, 
I  will  fall  in  the  van  of  the  glorious  fight, 

And  sleep  in  a  soldier's  grave. 


CLAIRVOYANCE 

A  HERE'S  a  vision  of  a  hammock  swinging 

in  a  shady  nook, 
And   couched   upon   its   cushions   there's   a 

maiden  with  a  book; 
But  it  lies  beside  her  open,  and  the  far  look 

in  her  eyes 
Tells  of  thoughts  that  travel  other  lands, 

and  rest  on  other  skies. 

0  wistful,  wondering  dreamer,   all  my  life 

makes  answer  clear 
To  your  question,  for  I  read  it.     Are  you 
listening?  do  you  hear? 

1  have  just  three  things  to  tell  you,  ever 

new  and  ever  true,  — 
That  I  love  you,  and  I  love  you,  and  I  love 
no  one  but  vou. 


124 


THE   CLOUDLET 


D 


RAWN  by  a  hungering  heart,  my  eye 
Turned  to  the  western  evening  sky, 
And  there,  upon  a  sapphire  sea, 
One  small  pink  cloud  sailed  peacefully; 
Some  radiant  orb  beyond  my  sight 
Filled  all  her  life  with  glorious  light; 
Some  fire  my  vision  could  not  claim, 
Glowed  in  her  heart,  a  living  flame. 
Ah  happy  cloudlet,  you  can  see 
What  that  dull  hill-top  hides  from  me; 
Yet  know  I,  by  your  vision  fair, 
My  light  of  life  is  shining  there. 


125 


A   SONG   OF   SUMMER 

W  ITH  the  breath  of  flowers  panting, 

Comes  the  breeze, 
And  the  birds  their  loves  are  chanting 

In  the  trees; 
So  I  know  that  Summer  reigneth, 
And  that  while  her  throne  remaineth, 
Every  heart  is  full  that  draineth 

Joys  like  these. 

I  can  listen  to  the  thrushes, 

As  they  sing, 
I  can  quaff  the  life  that  gushes 

From  the  spring; 
But  I  cannot  tell  the  measure 
Of  my  heart's  supremest  pleasure, 
As  it  grasps  the  lavish  treasure 

Which  they  bring. 

Gentle  Spirit  of  the  Summer, 

Stay,  oh  stay! 
Thou  wilt  find  no  kindlier  welcome 
126 


A     SONG     OF     SUMMER  127 

Hence  away. 
Nowhere  will  the  fields  be  greener, 
Or  the  summer  skies  serener, 
Gladness  purer,  pleasures  keener, 

Hearts  more  gay. 


VEILED 


L  HE  soft  light  lies  on  the  mountain, 

The  south  wind  stirs  the  grass, 
Below,  on  the  dreaming  meadow, 

The  fleet  cloud  —  shadows  pass; 
The  pomp  of  a  perfect  summer 

In  splendor  marches  by, 
Yet  the  pageant  wins  no  rapture, 

And  flings  me  back  a  sigh. 

0  brave  and  radiant  summer, 

You  are  hiding  your  best  from  me; 
There's  a  veil  upon  your  beauty; 

It  is  only  in  part  I  see; 
Not  to  the  lonely  vision 

Is  the  crowning  glory  sent; 
Were  another  here  beside  me, 

The  veil  were  quickly  rent. 


128 


THE   ZEPHYR   AND    I 


±  HE    Zephyr    and  I  have  been  roaming 
free 
Up  the  glen,  whence  the  orchids  come, 
And  through  the  wood,  where  the  solemn 
grouse 
Was  beating  his  muffled  drum. 
We  saw  where  the  crows  were  building  a 
nest 
On  the  top  of  a  mountain  pine, 
And  watched  the  bright  buds  peeping  forth 
From  a  latticed  forest  vine. 

The  Zephyr  and  I  are  welcome  guests, 

For  a  merry  fellow  is  he, 
And  though  he  sports  in  a  quiet  way, 

He  is  full  of  jollity. 
The  robin  greeted  his  glad  return 

With  a  hearty,  eloquent  song, 
And  the  amorous  pine-bough  softly  sighed, 

"0,  where  have  you  been  so  long?" 
129 


130  THE     ZEPHYR     AND     I 

But  the  Zephyr  capered  away  with  an  air 

That  plainly  whispered  to  me: 
"She  deems  that  she  alone  is  fair; 

0,  ho!   what  a  witling  is  she!" 
I  knew  he  had  been  to  the  southern  land, 

And  had  romped  with  the  tulip-flowers, 
And  courted  the  rich  magnolia,  too, 

And  flirted  in  orange  bowers. 

So  we  wandered  on,  the  Zephyr  and  I, 

He  frolicking  wildly  along, 
Now  gliding  by  with  a  wanton  sigh, 

Now  returning  again  with  a  song. 
A  weary  old  man  by  the  wayside  sat, 

And  the  Zephyr  brightened  his  face; 
An  urchin  merrily  chased  his  hat, 

And  laughed  as  he  won  the  race. 

He  kissed  the  fields,  and  bade  them  hope 

For  flowers  and  a  summer  sun; 
He  kissed  the  woods,  and  swelled  the  veins 

Of  a  life  already  begun; 
The  rivulets  danced  right  cheerily, 

By  his  melody  beguiled, 
And  the  dreary  earth,  for  the  love  of  him, 

Looked  up  to  God  and  smiled. 


THE    ZEPHYR    AND     I  131 

We  wandered  along,  the  Zephyr  and  I, 

But  just  as  the  day  was  dying, 
He  vanished  over  the  eastern  hill, 

With  a  faintly  audible  sighing. 
He  has  gone  with  his  mockery  now,  to  play 

With  the  curls  on  the  sunniest  brow! 
Perhaps  he  will  whisper  a  word  of  me; 

Ah!  that  I  were  that  Zephyr  now! 


BEYOND 

"0  Life,  0  Beyond, 
Thou  art  strange,  thou  art  sweet!" 

—  Mrs.  Browning 


H 


IGH  up  in  a  dusky  mountain  glen, 
Away  from  the  homes  of  turbulent  men, 
Where  the  rays  of  the  sun  had  never  been 
And  only  the  northern  stars  peeped  in, 
Where  pale  and  slender  the  grasses  grew, 
And  the  flowers  bloomed  with  a  faded  hue, 
From  beneath  a  rock  a  rivulet  sprang, 
And  danced   to  the  song  the  wood-thrush 

sang, 
As  it  hurried  away  down  the  deep  ravine, 
With  a  tremulous  sparkle  of  silver  sheen, 
Away  from  its  store  of  pearls  and  shells 
Through  flowery  dingles  and  grassy  dells, 
Gathering  strength  as  it  leaped  along, 
Waking  the  woodlands  to  life  and  song, 
Murmuring  ever  a  cadence  fond 
Of  the  blissful  shores  that  lay  Beyond. 
132 


B  E  Y  O  N  1)  133 

The  linnets  sang  in  the  tangled  copse, 
The  mocking-bird  whistled  in  Kalmia  tops, 
The  lilies  lovingly  thronged  its  way, 
And  anemones  kissed  it  and  bade  it  stay; 
But  lingering  never  it  sparkled  by 
Unheeding  the  sedge's  amorous  sigh, 
Trilling  a  melody  silver  clear 
Which  a  poet  had  stood  entranced  to  hear. 

Then  rocks  were  tumbled  athwart  its  path, 
Till  it  grew  a  torrent  and  foamed  in  wrath, 
Through    clefts    and    gorges,    and    frightful 

chasms, 
Where  the  earth  had  been  rent  with  thunder 

spasms, 
Through  cavernous  passages  underground 
With  a  roar,  and  a  stifled  murmurous  sound, 
Wildly  and  swiftly  it  thundered  along, 
And  the  woodlands  rang  with  its  triumph 

song. 

Then  a  beetling  cliff  its  head  upreared, 
And  below  a  yawning  gulf  appeared; 
The  fir  trees  grappled  the  rocks  and  clung, 
And  over  the  precipice  dizzily  swung; 
The    kingfisher    screamed    from    a    naked 

bough, 
And  the  torrent  halted  a  moment  now,  — 


134  BEYOND 

A  moment  it  quivered  upon  the  crag, 
Then  flung  to  the  breeze  its  misty  flag, 
And   wreathing   its   brow   with   a   rainbow 

crown, 
It  dashed  in  terrible  madness  down, 
With  a  shock  that  shook  the  hills  afar, 
And  a  roar  like  the  coming  of  distant  war. 

Gathering  now  its  jewels  of  spray, 
It  glanced  and  rippled  along  its  way, 
Through  ranks  of  towering  palisades, 
Through    sycamore    arches     and    beechen 

shades, 
Away  from  the  forest  in  glee  it  dashed, 
And  out  on  the  meadows  in  splendor  flashed, 
Where  willowy  thickets  lined  the  shores, 
And  the  water-nymph  plied  her  slender  oars; 
Where  feathery  elms  in  grandeur  swayed, 
And  flecked  the  stream  with  a  tremulous 

shade; 
But  tarrying  never,  it  murmured  past, 
Through   meadow    and   moorland    speeding 

fast, 
A  restless,  wandering  vagabond, 
Forever  singing,  "Beyond!     Beyond!" 

Anon  the  current  grew  deep  and  strong, 
And  a  widening  river  rolled  along, 


BEYOND  135 

With  placid  bosom  and  steady  flow, 

Its  babble  hushed  to  a  murmur  low, 

It  swept  through  fields  of  ripening  grain, 

It  cleft  the  hostile  nations  amain, 

And  calm  in  its  own  resistless  might, 

It  laved  the  valley  and  glassed  the  height, 

Still  flowing  in  lordly  majesty  down, 

By  stately  city  and  busy  town, 

Still  eddying,  swelling,  gliding  away, 

Till  the  dark  blue  ocean  before  it  lay. 

0  the  mighty  sea  is  a  fearful  thing, 
With  its  dread,  monotonous  murmuring, 
With  its  roar  of  tempest  and  dash  of  surge, 
Forever  chiming  the  awful  dirge 
Of  the  dead,  the  dead,  the  million  dead 
That  slumber  below  in  its  rocky  bed; 
Forever  smiling  upon  the  skies 
And  plundering  navies  and  argosies; 
Retreating  and  greeting  the  land  again, 
And  drinking  rivers  and  strangling  men. 

And  the  river  paused  as  the  ocean's  boom 
Came  rolling  from  far  like  the  bolt  of  doom, 
And  its  waters  stayed  —  then  gathered  again, 
And  swept  in  strength  to  the  raging  main; 
Not  there  in  fathomless  depths  to  sink 


136  BEYOND 

With  never  a  bubble  upon  the  brink, 
Not  there  to  pave  with  turbulent  wrath 
The  mighty  storm  king's  triumph  path, 
But  thence  in  vapory  wreaths  to  rise, 
On  wings  of  light  to  the  sapphire  skies; 
And  there  to  build  with  crystal  bars, 
Their  rainbow  palaces  'neath  the  stars; 
And  there  to  float,  with  sunbeams  drest, 
In  a  heaven  of  purity  and  rest. 

There  is  a  river  whose  waters  roll 

Through  the  channels  of  every  human  soul; 

A  river  whose  crystal  fountains  rise 

On  the  border  of  two  eternities, 

Whose  beautiful  current  flows  pure  and  free 

Through  the  unnamed  regions  of  infancy, 

Where  the  shores  are  vocal  with  loving  words, 

And  the  songs  of  angels  and  singing  birds; 

Whose  rippling  waters  in  gladness  sing 

Through  the  bud  and  blossom  of  childhood's 

spring, 
And  pour  in  many  a  tortuous  route 
Over  rifts  of  passion  and  rocks  of  doubt, 
While  the  blood  is  hot  and  the  pulses  thrill 
With  longing  and  hope  and  impulsive  will, 
While  youth  is  planting  the  seeds  of  care 
And  nursing  the  phantoms  that  breed  despair; 


BEYOND  1  ')  7 

Then  flow  with  a  current  strong  but  calm, 
Through  fields  of  labor  and  groves  of  palm, 
Through  the  harvests  of  blessing  and  wealth 

and  boon, 
That  ripen  in  manhood's  summer  noon; 
Still  rolling  their  silver  heritage 
Through    the    tottering    arches    of    honored 

age, 
Still  sweeping,  with  steady,  remorseless  flow, 
Through   summer's   blossoms    and   winter's 

snow, 
Through  golden  autumn  and  emerald  spring, 
But  never  a  moment  tarrying, 
Till  they  sink  in  the  silent,  shoreless  sea, 
That  flows  between  Time  and  Eternity. 

And  this,  0  spirit,  is  this  the  end? 

When   the  waters   of  Life  with   the   ocean 

blend, 
And  we  hear  the  sullen,  pulseless  roar 
Of   the   breakers   that   dash   on   the   hither 

shore, 
Must  we  feel,  as  we  hearken  in  dread  to  this, 
That  it  tells  of  a  boundless  nothingness? 
That  for  all  who  sorrow  beneath  the  sun 
There  remaineth  but  drear  oblivion? 
That  Death  is  God,  and  the  world  his  throne, 


138  BEYOND 

And  the  nations  shall  bow  to  him  alone? 

That  all  thy  hopings  and  yearnings  fond 

For  something  better  that  lay  Beyond 

Were  only  phantoms  that  beckoned  thee 

To  thy  home  in  waste  nonentity? 

Is  thy  very  being  a  specious  lie, 

And  its  end  but  to  suffer  and  grope  and  die? 

If  this  be  all,  this  universe 

Is  a  painted  shadow,  a  gilded  curse! 

And   this   world,   with   its   heaven-pointing 

spires, 
Its  groves,  and  temples,  and  altar-fires, 
Its  incense  of  worship  and  solemn  prayer 
That  burden  forever  the  reverent  air, 
Were  better  hurled  from  its  track  of  light, 
To  the  depths  of  chaos  and  endless  night. 

It  is  not  thus;  it  shall  not  be! 

But  upward,  for  aye,  from  that  unknown  sea, 

A  shadowy  throng  of  spirits  rise 

To  their  God  and  Father  beyond  the  skies, 

To  the  golden  streets,  and  the  shining  sea, 

And  glory  and  immortality. 


PARTING   SONG 
For  the  Class  of  1859,  Williams  College 

A  HROUGH  the  merry  months  of  spring 
and  the  smiling  Summer  time, 

Through  the  snows  of  dreary  winter  and  the 
autumn's  golden  prime, 

Through  the  happiest  days  of  life  here  to- 
gether we  have  passed, 

And  we've  seen  the  sunset  glories  gild  the 
saddest  and  the  last; 

And,  Brothers,  here  tonight,  beneath  this 
quiet  summer  sky, 

We  have  gathered  for  our  parting,  and  we 
say  our  last  good-bye. 

While  the  vintage  of  the  past  sparkling  wine 

of  pleasure  pours, 
And  memory  gathers  home  all  her  richest 

harvest  stores, 
While  the  songs  we  here  have  sung  float 

with  cadence  soft  and  low 
139 


140  PARTING     SONG 

Through  the  starry  vaulted  heavens  of  the 

storied  long  ago, 
Let  us  spread  the  festive  board,   and  the 

foaming  beaker  drain, 
To  the  golden-fruited  seasons  that  may  never 

come  again. 

Now  the  truce  to  toil  is  past,  and  the  hour 
of  battle  comes, 

And  we  hear  the  clash  of  sabers  and  the  roll 
of  signal  drums, 

Where  the  flags  of  Truth  and  Right  o'er  the 
hosts  of  labor  wave, 

And  the  veteran  columns  open  to  the  will- 
ing and  the  brave; 

So  we  grasp  the  flashing  sword  as  we  loose 
the  parting  hand, 

And  the  smoke  of  battle  settles  o'er  our  sep- 
arated band. 

And,  Brothers,  as  the  years  roll  their  joys 
and  sorrows  past, 

And  the  smoke  of  battle  clears  away  at  vic- 
tory's bugle  blast, 

Through  our  triumph  and  our  toil  we  will 
guard  the  sacred  bond 


PARTING     SONG  141 

That  has  joined  us  here  on  earth;  and  in 
better  lands  beyond, 

When  the  silver  cords  are  loosed  and  the 
final  partings  come, 

May  we  find  it  joined  forever  in  an  ever- 
lasting home! 


